


Stop making sense

by Teland



Series: love me 'til my heart stops [3]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst & Humor, Backstory, Choking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Gabriel Is Terrifying At People, Grief/Mourning, Kink Negotiation, Manipulation, Michael Is Bad At People, Problematic Relationship Choices, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, Spanking, Sparring, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23196262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: "A spoonful of pathology helps all *sorts* of things go down."
Relationships: Michael Burnham & Sylvia Tilly, Michael Burnham/Ash Tyler | Voq, Michael Burnham/Gabriel Lorca | Mirror Gabriel Lorca, Michael Burnham/Philippa Georgiou, Mirror Michael Burnham/Gabriel Lorca | Mirror Gabriel Lorca
Series: love me 'til my heart stops [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661998
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. Out.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demigodscum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demigodscum/gifts), [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Technically, they exist in the future, so does anyone *really* own them? Enh...? Enh...? All right, fine. 
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Various S1 mentions, run through the AU filter. Takes place well before the trip to Mirrorverse. 
> 
> Author's Note: Third in the 'love me 'til my heart stops' series. Kicks off just a few hours after "Let the water hold me down" ends. There will almost certainly be at least one more story in this series. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Love *forever* to demigodscum and the Jack for audiencing, encouragement, thrown objects, grammar imperialism, forcing me to write the story I actually *wanted* to write -- and so on.

It doesn't feel like a decision when Michael pushes out of Gabriel's arms at 0319, leaves the bed, and begins to dress. 

It doesn't -- 

He is watching her, of course. 

They both know she does not *usually* leave until 0530 at the *earliest*. 

They both know that she will not come back to this place... as easily as she had done last night. 

They both know many things, and -- Gabriel is silent, still. 

Watching her and waiting for her and -- 

She wants to tell him that, usually, the *pressure* he puts on her solely by existing is welcome, and warm, and entirely perfect. 

She wants to tell him that he had given her a craving for being contained -- held still and *quiet* in a very small space -- by and for and *with*... someone else. 

She wants -- but. 

In *this* moment, as she slips into her shoes, she does *not* want to give him a chance to *respond*. She doesn't trust herself to hold to already-shaky resolve should he say... 

Whatever he *would* have to say to that.

She doesn't trust herself in *many* ways, for many *reasons*, and so she does not touch him, or speak, or *look* at him before she walks out of the bedroom -- 

Out and *away* from the sound of a hitched breath -- 

*Out* of Gabriel's quarters, and -- 

She tries, very hard, to berate herself for not checking the corridor *first*, but -- in the end, there was no one there, and it was absolutely imperative to move *quickly*. She -- 

She doesn't trust herself in the *slightest*.

It's time to do something about that -- or, at the very least, come up with a *plan* to do something about that. She -- 

She must.


	2. Tilly knows those fumes are hella powerful for the uninitiated. And for at least some of the initiated, too.

"What -- oh. Hunh. You're here. You're actually -- wait, what day is it?" 

Michael hums -- at the ceiling, but *also* at Tilly. "I am here, yes." 

"*Why* are you -- oh shit. Did you break *up* with him?" 

Michael blinks. 

"Oh my God, you did, didn't you. You broke up with the *Captain* --" 

"Tilly --" 

"He's going to kill us all," she says in a small, horrified voice. 

Michael -- licks her lips. 

*Considers*, for long moments, what she will say next -- 

"Fuuuck," Tilly says, still in that small voice --

"Tilly," Michael says -- tries.

"Were you, you know, *nice* about it?" 

"I --" 

"Sometimes it can be a little okay if you let them down easy -- do you know how to do that? Oh fuck, of course you don't." 

"Tilly, I'm not *helpless*!" 

Tilly looks at her with an expression that manages to be bleak, wry, and *condescending*. 

Michael -- sighs. "I did not break up with him." 

Tilly blinks -- and perks. As ever, it makes Michael wish to have something bright, cheerful, and entirely positive to say. 

It's possible that will happen...

Someday. 

For now: "I... walked out on him. Tonight," Michael says, sitting up and throwing her legs over the side of the bed. And then she rests her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. 

"We're all dead. Just -- so dead."

"I --" 

"*But* -- that's not the important thing," Tilly says, crossing over to Michael's side of the room, joining her on the bed, and draping herself on and around Michael in a soft, warm hug which truly does seem to use more of her body than should strictly be possible with the two of them upright. Tilly remains a remarkable person. 

"What is the important thing." 

"How *you* are," Tilly says, drawing out the words in the manner of an older sister explaining matters to a moderately *dim* younger one. 

"Tilly --" 

"Michael." Tilly uses this tone with her... distressingly often. Still --

Michael frowns. Into her hands. 

"You have to realize something, Michael." 

"I'm listening." 

"I'm *going* to continue hugging you -- there may even be petting and soft cooing noises -- right up until you start talking about your feelings." 

Michael drops her hands. 

Turns slowly. 

*Looks* at Tilly. 

Tilly looks right back. 

Michael considers, for long moments, whether it had truly been wise to *admit* to Tilly how woefully inexperienced she was with sexuality, romance, and, truly, every *other* sort of interpersonal relationship which wasn't *directly* related to military matters. 

Tilly continues to look at her, however, and that -- 

*That* strongly suggests that Michael truly did not have to *admit* anything: Tilly saw her coming from *parsecs* away. Michael smiles wryly. "I am... conflicted." 

"*Good* start." 

"Truly?" 

"Yes! I now have *questions* I can ask -- *targeted* questions." 

Michael winces. That is, of course, what she is afraid of -- but. "I cannot promise to answer... yet." 

Tilly frowns at her thoughtfully for long moments -- but nods. "You're still putting everything together in there, maybe?"

"That..." Michael shakes her head. "We have secrets, between us." 

"You and Lorca?"

Michael nods once. "I am... angry with him, but I do not feel comfortable sharing the deepest secrets of his heart. Yet." 

Tilly raises her eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?" 

Michael blinks -- "I..." 

"Are you sure you're *angry* with him, I mean. As opposed to some other thing." 

Michael frowns hard -- but. 

She can think about that question, can't she?

She can... stack *up* Gabriel's various failings -- with regard to her *and* otherwise -- and spend at least *some* time considering how they make her *feel*. 

She can look at his history of murder, manipulation, pederasty, totalitarianism, cannibalism -- everything. *Everything*. 

She can look at his *present* of easy, near-perfect lies to *everyone* -- including *her* up until *very* recently -- 

She can look at -- "He is... manipulative," Michael says, after long moments. 

"Yeah? I mean... you knew that going in, right?" 

Michael frowns. "I did not know it... well enough." 

Tilly blinks -- and then frowns, herself. "Do you mean... does he try to get you to, you know, *do* things --" 

"He has asked for nothing sexual that I haven't wanted... wholeheartedly," Michael says, and smiles wryly. "And I rather enjoy the way he *demands* things." Are you listening, Gabriel?

Watching me...?

Michael takes a breath. "He is manipulative in other ways, for other *reasons*." 

Tilly nods slowly, biting her lower lip and continuing to hug Michael -- though loosely enough, now, to facilitate breathing. 

Michael does more of that. 

"I mean, he's a manipulative jackass just when he's being, you know, the *Captain*." 

"Yes." 

"He's studied *all* our psych profiles, I bet --" 

"He truly has. And memorized the most devastating details." 

"Grk -- um." Tilly looks at her. 

Michael smiles ruefully back at her. "If it makes you feel any better... I'm reasonably certain *all* captains do just that." 

"Well -- but --" And Tilly leans in, despite them already being all but on *top* of each other -- "Did Captain Georgiou *torture* everyone on the _Shenzhou_ with what was in their profiles?"

Her first instinct is to flinch -- but Gabriel has taught her many ways to avoid that, when speaking of Philippa. 

Her *next* instinct is to *defend* Gabriel -- he does not do what he does in the interest of torture! He's only trying get the absolute most, the absolute *best*, out of his crew. It's just that he doesn't know *every* way to do that, and -- 

And the ways he *does* know, he learned at the feet of Imperial torturers. 

Michael's laugh manages to seem, to her own ears, both raucous and *ill*. 

"Oh -- hey --" And Tilly squeezes her hard, squeezes her *close* -- 

Michael clutches back before she can think about it, before she can even think of *stopping* herself -- 

"Oof -- whoa -- I -- Michael?" Tilly does not pull back to try to see Michael's face, though. Not yet. 

That is... valuable. 

It -- 

"He tortures us. He -- there are times when I think he does not know how to do anything *else*." 

"Does he torture *you*?" 

"No -- I... not like that." 

Tilly makes a low, *enraged* sound -- "Michael..." 

"Don't -- he tortures me by flaying my psyche -- *filleting* my psyche -- until we can *both* see precisely what is *in* it and what is *driving* it at all times." 

"Um..." 

"He. I think..." Michael frowns again. 

"What do you think?" And Tilly's voice is soft, cautious -- 

She isn't letting *go* -- 

And neither is Michael. She --

She won't. Not yet. "There are times when I believe that he wishes to crawl into my *skin* and *live* there." 

"Uhh. When *don't* you feel that way?" 

Michael coughs a laugh. "When I am flaying -- and filleting -- *his* psyche, and he gazes at me as though I am the most beautiful, most perfect, most brilliant, most *beloved* being in the *multiverse*." 

"I'm. Uh. Keep going..." 

"Yes, I -- when I do that, he gives me those -- those *looks*. And those aren't the only times he gives me those looks, but they are the times when I know, with all of myself, that he wishes I would crawl into *his* skin, and... remake him." 

"All right um. Uh..." 

Michael laughs painfully. "You don't -- do not worry about finding the right thing to *say*, Tilly. I don't think there *is* a right thing --" 

"But you're wrong. I mean -- I mean, I'm pretty sure about this." 

Michael blinks, and pulls back enough -- *only* enough -- that she can see Tilly's face. 

Her loving and worried and *determined* -- 

"I -- then. What *is* the right thing to say in a situation like *this*?" 

Tilly takes a *deep* breath -- 

Licks her lips -- 

"Okay. Okay. I -- bear with me, because, um -- I've never been in *quite* this situation before --" 

"I --" 

"But I've *heard* of things like it, and I've even *seen* things like it. At the Academy, a bit." 

Michael blinks rapidly. "Truly?" 

Tilly smiles wryly and squeezes her. "You have no *idea* how often I wish we'd gone together. I would've dragged you *bodily* out of the libraries --" 

"I --" 

"But that isn't now. Now is -- anyway. He wants you to remake him?" 

"Yes, I -- I think. I mean, he lets me *dictate* who he should be, and how he should *act*, and what he should *believe* --" 

"Fuck -- uh. Okay. Okay." 

"Tilly --" 

"*Does he want to remake you*. Or is he just -- 'just' -- trying to wear your skin like some creepy -- you know what, I'm gonna let that simile go. But?" 

Michael shivers and -- wants, very badly, not to answer this question. It's not that she knows *precisely* how Tilly will *use* her answer -- she is blind to it, still -- but... 

She can sense the shape of it, she thinks. 

She can -- but she had started this, and she *needs* help. "I -- yes. He wants me to be..." 

"Someone you're not?" 

"He wants me to be *precisely* who I am, only with somewhat less attachment to -- Starfleet morality." *Federation* morality, but -- 

"So, yeah, *someone you're not*," Tilly says, sharp and *bracing*. 

"I --" 

"So what we have are two people who are *attacking* each other with sharp objects *all the time*, because even though they like each other -- *care* about each other -- they both know that the people they *really* want -- 

"The people they really *love* --" 

"Are just a little bit -- or a *lot* -- different." 

Michael -- flinches. 

Tilly nods, and smiles ruefully. "Like I said, I've seen it. As near as I can tell? It happens all the time, in one way or another." 

"I -- does it?" 

"Mm-hm. Especially... well, didn't you *say* he was on the rebound? That he was grieving for someone he lost on the _Buran_?" 

Oh, *that* lie -- "Yes --" 

"And does he just *do* that? Let his *dick* captain all his ships?" 

"*No* -- I -- the relationship was long-term, serious --" 

"They were planning to be married, maybe? Or bonded or some other thing like that?" 

"Yes --" 

"And you have reason to *believe* that, right?" And Tilly's eyebrows are up, but not... skeptical.

"Yes, I do. What --" 

"So what you're actually saying is that he was madly in love with -- and committed to -- a woman who died horribly -- at least in part *because of things he did* --" 

"*Fuck*," Michael says, and throws herself back against the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest. "It would be... entirely unreasonable to believe he was truly capable of *not* trying to make me more like her, even if --" I didn't wear her face and body and *everything* else. She shakes her head. "I knew this. I knew he was *grieving* --" 

"The words you used -- let me *see*," Tilly says, and taps her lower lip. "'He was broken, and small, and weeping, and *clinging* to me --'" 

"As though. As though I were the only one who could ease his pain," Michael says, and winces. "I -- do see what you're saying." 

Tilly smiles ruefully. "There's more." 

Michael *looks* at her. 

"Did you *not* want advice? I mean, you actually came back to our room for more than just clothes and everything," Tilly says, and looks right back. 

Michael winces. "I... have not been a good friend." 

"You've been breathing dick-fumes for weeks. Happens to the best of us." 

Michael *coughs* -- 

Tilly grins and punches her. "This is where you *apologize* for getting so stoned on those fumes that you couldn't *talk* to anyone... and that's a... hint... hiiint..." 

Michael *chokes* on a laugh -- 

Giggles helplessly -- 

And Gabriel is in her mind, Gabriel is *gazing* at her, drinking *in* her laughter, urging more and more of it out of her -- 

"Oh -- Michael," Tilly says, and crawls close again, hugging once more. 

"I'm -- I *apologize* --" 

"I know." 

"I don't mean to --" 

"I know." 

"Please *let* me --" 

"Nope," Tilly says, and squeezes her. 

Michael blinks -- and stops.

And breathes -- 

"No...?" 

"No," Tilly says, "because even *if* you break up with him as soon as you both walk onto the bridge, or something else appropriately dramatic, you're still going to be obsessing about him for a while. It's how this works." 

Michael frowns hard, but -- that much she had heard.

*Seen*, in her limited ways, but -- 

"I never thought... that I would do that. Become that." 

"You never thought you'd fall in love?" 

Michael blinks and -- *blinks* -- 

"See, even though you're both flaying each other all the time, even though you can't seem to stop mushing and *molding* each other when you should just be learning about each other and seeing how all your pieces *fit*?" 

"We still -- care about each other." 

Tilly raises her eyebrows. 

"I -- I haven't *known* him for very --" 

"I'm about to say something which will probably make you flinch, Michael. I don't *want* to, but I think... I think I kinda have to," Tilly says, and frowns down at their laps for a moment before looking up with an *earnest* expression on her face. "You can punch the *hell* out of me for it, though, all right?" 

"I will not --" 

"Don't say that -- yet," Tilly says, and takes a breath -- "All right, here it is: What would you say about how you felt about Captain *Georgiou* --" 

"Don't --" 

"-- six or seven months into your relationship with *her*, when she was shaping you, and molding you, and training you, and making you into *her* protégé -- doing *everything* to make you her protégé --" 

"No -- don't say --" 

"What would you say, Michael? And what would you say about how *she* felt about *you*?" 

Michael -- draws back. 

Stands up. 

Moves -- away. "It is not the same," she says, after a moment to be certain her voice won't betray her. 

"Yes and no --" 

"*No*." 

"*Yes*, Michael, because Captain Georgiou trained *you* to be the sort of person who drinks *up* the kind of attention Captain *Lorca* gives you in all of those *corrupt* ways. And even assuming Georgiou was as good and honest and -- all of those things that everyone says she was, all of those things that I absolutely *believe* she was?" 

"What." 

"She was still training you to be her *soldier* as much as she was training you to be all of those other things. I -- you know that," Tilly says, quietly. Pleadingly. And -- 

She does. 

She *does* know that, and she has *always* respected it, and -- 

And. She can... stand down. 

She turns back to Tilly. "I loved her for it. I loved her for *all* the training she gave me. I -- all of it was a beautiful gift. A *priceless* gift that she gave me every moment we were *together*. I would've done anything for her at any time --" 

("Anything, Michael. Anything, at any time, for any *reason* -- or none at all.") 

Michael shivers and covers her face again. 

But she can still hear and feel Tilly moving, coming to her -- 

Hugging her again. 

Holding her, and -- "It's -- it's *like* this, I think." 

"What -- what is like what?" 

"The people we love and respect and need and -- all of that. When we're young, those people teach us what all of those words *really* mean, and it takes a long time to figure out how to define them in different ways. If we ever do." 

"I... want to know who has taught *you*." 

"Well... I don't know," Tilly says, and pulls back with a rueful smile. 

"No...?" 

"I've fucked a lot of people, and even made love with a bunch. I've had relationships, but none of them really went anywhere..." She shakes her head. "And then there are my parents, who pretty much *exemplify* how not to teach a child about bonding." 

Michael winces and nods. "You have shared... some of this." 

"I'll share more when I'm up to it," she says, and waves a hand. "Anyway, I obviously *did* learn about how to go about relationships from all these people, but I don't know *what* I learned, and I won't know if any of those lessons will do me, personally, any good when I finally do try to settle down with someone. I've spent a *lot* of time *watching* how other people do these things, because. Because I'm terrified that all I'll *really* know how to do is act like my mother. Or *not* act, like my father." 

"I do not believe that *that* future will be yours, Tilly." 

Her smile turns quirked. "You have faith in me, Michael?" 

"Yes. In every way," Michael says, and looks into Tilly as much as she can, tries to *give* her Michael's own *certainty* -- 

Tilly shivers. "Well, all right, then," she says, and nods once. "Let's figure out a little more about your Lorca problem." 

"Oh -- fuck. All right."

Tilly smiles *evilly*. "You can take it..." 

"*Please* don't remind me of him, Tilly." 

Tilly *chokes* -- 

Michael hums -- 

"Oh -- he *absolutely* says that when he's about to -- or when he's in the *middle* of --" Tilly stops and frowns thoughtfully. 

"Yes...?" 

She pulls back and holds her hands apart, palms facing each other and -- 

Oh. "Ah..." Michael spreads those hands a *bit* more --

"The *hell*, Michael, when did you even *stretch* enough for -- you hadn't fucked *anyone* since the Academy -- but. Is he gentle or... something?" Tilly frowns as though her question was precisely as improbable as it was. 

Which.

Well. 

Michael bends to pull the small, locked -- and *gently* booby-trapped -- case out from under the bed. 

"Ooh, prezzies --" 

"*No*," Michael says, and opens the case to reveal the four toys whose specifications suited her so well that she had long since memorized every individual measurement. 

Tilly -- beams. 

And claps. 

And *reaches* -- 

Michael *moves* the case -- 

"Aww --"

"But I believe this answers your *question*, Tilly?" 

"Yes, but -- you totally masturbate in dead silence, don't you." 

"Yes...? Of course." 

Tilly's expression is *pinched*. 

"Did you think I *didn't* masturbate?" 

"Well -- you were *really* repressed, Michael. I mean -- really a lot." 

"I --" 

"Also, now I'm gonna feel like *I* have to masturbate in dead silence from now on just to be *polite*." 

Michael licks her lips. 

Tilly glares at her. 

Michael -- laughs. Just... laughs, loud and helplessly. 

Tilly's grin is the warmest, kindest sun of all, shining down and giving *life*. "I mean, I absolutely *won't* be silent -- ever --" 

Michael snorts -- 

"I'll probably make more of those warbling sounds that always made my mom *look* at me the next morning -- you know that look --" 

"I --" Michael shakes her head and tries to sober herself. "Amanda tried to shop for toy-patterns *with* me." 

"Um." 

"She was very proud of me for 'discovering' myself, Tilly." 

"Did she think you'd lost your pussy in one of the cabinets or something? *What*?" 

Michael snorts *hard*. "I don't *know*. It was *mortifying*. I had to *flee* from her -- her attempts to *bond* with me over this --" 

"Oh, God. You were like a cat clinging to curtains, weren't you." 

"Perhaps a cat in a Jeffries tube. Who refuses to leave. *Ever*." 

Tilly splutters --

"And then, of course, *Sarek* came to speak to me --" 

"Oh -- oh, *shit*. What did he *say*?" 

"That he was *pleased* to see that I was 'approaching the many difficulties and inconveniences of human sexuality in a healthy, logical manner' --" 

Tilly *honks* at her -- 

"He went *on* in that vein for *quite* some time..." 

"What did *you* say?" 

"*Nothing*. I stared into the *abyss* of my adolescence and wondered -- deeply -- if there was a way for the roof to fall in on both of us so that the conversation -- and our memories *of* it -- could be utterly *obliterated*." 

Tilly snickers -- 

"And then, of course, I realized that Sarek would simply save my life again and, perhaps while I was helpless in the rubble, place his thoughts about the sensibility of masturbatory aids for human teenagers *directly into my soul*." 

Tilly stares at her, wide-eyed and horrified. 

Michael raises her eyebrows. 

Tilly licks her lips and frowns.

Michael hums and puts her toys away, sitting back down on her bed. 

Tilly sits beside her -- and bumps her shoulder. 

Michael bumps her right back. 

"I feel like I know you about a million times better than I did ten minutes ago," Tilly says. "Or at least *understand* you better." 

Michael hums again. "Somewhere on this ship, Gabriel is very, very jealous about that." 

Tilly makes a face. "You're not allowed to have *friends*?" 

"Oh, I am. As many as I *wish*," Michael says, and smiles wryly. "Just so long as he knows me -- sees me -- better than *they* do." 

"I..." 

"Yes?" 

"I can't actually *decide* how fucked-up that is." 

"No...?"

"No. I mean, it's definitely at least a *little* fucked-up, but..." She frowns again. "I mean, it's not like a bonded couple *doesn't* know each other better than anyone else knows them, if everything goes well." 

"I'm not -- we aren't --" 

"The woman on the _Buran_ *had* to have been one of his subordinates, but -- *you* said they'd been together for a while. Years?" 

"Yes. I -- he had... trained her. Personally, for some things." 

"Mm-hm. And he's doing the *same* thing with you -- and literally no one else on this ship --" 

"I --" 

"And he's sharing *secrets* with you -- secrets which somehow go even deeper than the fact that he was risking court-martial for *years* with a woman who was killed. And you *know* Cornwell didn't know that, because of the way she *acted* around him --" 

"I --" 

"And because of the way she didn't *ground* him --" 

"They're *friends*, Tilly --" 

"And Cornwell is so Starfleet that she poops out fresh ensigns every morning after breakfast --" 

Michael chokes -- 

"She might not *court*-martial a friend -- *might* not -- but she'd absolutely take his command," Tilly says, and *looks* at her. 

Michael -- breathes. "You're right, of course. And -- yes. He gives me... all of his secrets. Everything I ask, he answers. It was not always that way, however." 

"No? He held you at bay for a while?" 

That *construct* -- "I -- days. He -- for *days* --" 

"Wait. Wait. He started spilling his guts about literally *everything* -- and inviting you to gut him *more* whenever you *wanted* to -- within days?" 

Michael -- stops. 

Thinks. 

"At first, he was *definitely* trying to make me... her. And part of that was allowing me his secrets." 

Tilly nods thoughtfully. "And then, maybe, he started getting *your* secrets -- learning more about who you *are* -- and he got even *more* honest?" 

"He teaches me -- he teaches me every *way* to make him honest. To --" 

"Flay him, you said." 

"Yes. I... it's... addictive," Michael says, and frowns down at her knees. 

"He told you he loved you within a *week*, didn't he." 

"Yes." 

"And you *haven't* said it." 

"I don't..." Michael laughs painfully. "I don't want to admit to myself -- or him -- that he's... *convinced* me so *thoroughly*."

"You have admitted it, though. Already, I mean." 

"Yes, right *now* --" 

"No, I mean to *him*. I don't know *exactly* what you did, Michael, but you're the least subtle person in the *universe* when you're feeling emotional about something." 

"I..." 

"I mean it. You're all cool and distant and *blank* most of the time, because most people don't do a thing to make you think they're *worth* you. And then someone you *like* comes along -- in one way or another -- and you just... light right up. *Hugely*." 

"Oh... dear." 

"Don't get me wrong -- you're good on the bridge. You hold your spine so straight that *no* one would know that you're doing filthy things with Lorca every chance you get -- though if you *didn't* realize that people have been whispering about that possibility from the beginning..." 

"I -- I did know. That. And I'm very happy I've managed to be circumspect about *one* thing." 

"You have, I promise. But... with Lorca..." Tilly smiles ruefully again. "He did something, he said something -- whatever. You lit *up* at him, in one way or *several*, and you did it fucking incandescently, and he is *feeding* on that." 

Michael frowns. "He said... he wouldn't ask me for declarations. Yet." 

Tilly bumps her shoulder again. "How much do you *really* think he *has* to?" 

"Versus... how much he is manipulating me into *thinking* about how much I -- love him," Michael says, and narrows her eyes. 

"He does that all the time, huh. Be *technically* honest while still hiding really *important* truths." 

Michael pinches the bridge of her nose. "He is... thrilled. Every time I *catch* him doing that." 

"How do *you* feel about it?" 

"I -- irritated. Annoyed. *Impatient*. I do not want a puzzle-box for a lover. He forgets that, I believe, because of how much he enjoys it when I am incomprehensible to *him*." 

"Yeah, it -- he needs someone to be his friend." 

"I -- can't do that." 

"No, absolutely *not*. But -- he still needs *a* friend to play his psycho little games with so that he doesn't keep trying to make *you* do it." 

Michael nods judiciously. "You are a *wise* woman, Tilly --" 

"You really think so?" 

"*Yes*. Which is why, as your elder, I'm assigning you to be Gabriel's friend --" 

Tilly *smacks* her -- 

And Michael grins -- and takes a breath. "Thank you." 

"Don't -- don't *horrify* me -- I mean, you're welcome, but --" 

"You're still afraid of him? After all of this?" 

"I'm *afraid* of his huge, hairy emotional problems, Michael." 

Michael looks at her. 

"And also of him, yeah, *but* -- he knows more about my psych evals than *I* do. I've *watched* him turn just about everyone in this crew into his personal *machines* with a few words and a *look*. I *like* being my own person." 

"I have... a cheat code for you." 

"If it involves twirling on his giant dick, I'm not -- well, I'm a *little* interested, because it's been a while, but that's not the *intelligent* part of me talking." 

Michael coughs. "It's -- *ask* him to share your psych evaluations with you. Tell him you want to know more about yourself." 

"And... what? He'll just *give* them to me? *No* one gets full access to those until they're up the *ladder*." 

Michael smiles wryly. "I believe you would not be surprised to learn how little respect he has for... any number of Starfleet regulations." 

"I... oh," Tilly says, and nods thoughtfully again. "I'll do it. I'll even be all bold while I'm doing it. I'll picture him with one of your toys up his ass --" 

"I." 

"I mean... do you? Ever?" 

"We... haven't --" 

"Does he not *like* it?" 

Michael considers -- 

"You're not sure?" 

"I... what I am *certain* of... is that he would do absolutely anything sexual I *wanted* him to do with me, so long as I showed him my desire for the act." 

"Nice. Take the toys with you next time." 

"I don't know if I am *going* --" 

"You're taking a break from him, Michael. You -- you just are," she says, and smiles at Michael *gently*. 

"Tilly --" 

"You might break up with him down the road, and maybe there's something -- or a lot of things -- in the *million* things we both know you didn't say that means you *should* break up with him as soon as you *can* --" 

Michael closes her *mouth* -- 

And Tilly's smile turns a little sad. "I think, maybe, there's a difference between two lovers knowing more about each other than any of their friends know about them, and those two lovers getting tied together with just -- all the secrets in the universe. I *think* we're supposed to be able to talk about our lives with our friends, even if *all* the topics don't come up all the *time*." 

"You... think?" 

"It was in one of the downloadable texts from the family counselor Mom dragged us to for... a while. Until the counselor started telling her some harsh truths. I -- anyway. I *think* that's how it works. I honestly don't know. I never really had anyone to keep *real*, *important* secrets with -- until you." 

"Oh. Tilly... I. I never had a *friend* until you." 

"I know. I didn't, at first, but it was in the way you talked about Georgiou. She was literally everything to and *for* you, and um -- well. I knew you were starving, and so maybe I get, a little, why Lorca latched onto you so quickly.

"Because I knew, pretty early on, that you would maybe need more than *most* before you pushed me away. That you would *accept* more, and deeper, and *faster* -- well. Anyone can be shallow friends with anyone. Right?" 

Michael swallows -- and nods. "You -- needed more." 

"I did. And Lorca sure as *fuck* did. And a lot more besides. But -- you have to think more about what *you* need. Okay?" 

"I -- am trying to do just that. I know I need *you*, Tilly." 

"Does that mean you'll share your toy-patterns?" 

Michael stares. 

"I promise to warble out Lorca's name at *least* half the time --" 

Michael *stares* -- 

At *nothing* -- no. She's staring at the -- currently -- *blank* space where the Tilly from Gabriel's universe should be. What is she like? Had Gabriel known her?

... very *well*? 

"Come back to us, Michael, I'm still not gonna twirl on that dick unless he says nice things to at least ten people every day for a *week* --" 

"He --" 

"-- *without* manipulating them into working themselves to death!" 

Well. There's that. It -- "I think... I might have bad *taste*." 

Tilly... guffaws. 

At length. 

*Loudly*. 

Michael hums. "... in everything but cock."


	3. Every good student dreams of good --  or better -- teachers.

Once on the bridge, Gabriel nods at her with clipped, even professionalism -- and *fire* in his eyes. 

She looks away as smoothly as she can, moves to her station, and works. 

They have a plan for dealing with the Klingons' cloaking technology, but they will have to get in boarding range of one of their ships without being discovered. 

This would be utterly impossible for the rest of the fleet. For them...

For them, it need only be the sort of challenge that Michael is growing to crave with... many, *many* parts of herself. 

She *isn't* certain whether those parts are among the ones Gabriel loves best -- 

She isn't certain whether she wishes to *know* -- and that was a lie. 

She *is* certain that she is in no way ready to walk back into the space they -- and only they -- can share. 

She is...

She needs to *stretch*. 

And so, after a shift in which they -- again, frustratingly -- fail to close quite enough with any of the Klingons they find *without* needing to destroy them *utterly* -- 

She walks off the bridge, flush with the deaths of three Klingon warships -- and every last person *on* them -- and makes a point of pausing just... there. 

She knows exactly which path Ash takes to his own quarters. 

She knows he always *stops* at his quarters before going to the mess.

She knows, perhaps, a bit more than she *should* for a woman with a lover. 

She does not necessarily *have* to consider that now, she thinks -- certainly, Gabriel would say something along those lines were *he* the one Michael wished to see --

And, of course, making Gabriel her measure for such things -- as opposed to *anyone* she knows whose morality more closely aligns with her own -- is part of the problem she means to...

'Ameliorate' is, perhaps, a better word than 'solve'. 

Certainly Tilly would say it was the more *realistic* one for Michael, and -- 

And she'd told Tilly nothing substantive about Gabriel, nothing essential about his character or history. She'd tried to be *circumspect* -- at least circumspect enough to receive *advice* without precipitating *multiple* disasters -- but...

All she had *truly* done was make Tilly absolutely certain that there were *dark* secrets Michael was choosing not to share -- as opposed to simply the deeper secrets lovers can share. It -- Michael knows, now that she can think in a *little* bit of privacy, that part of what *relaxed* Tilly after a time this morning -- 

Part of what allowed her to provide such *easy* affection -- 

Was the fact that Tilly now *knows* -- Michael is certain of this the way she is certain of being under a constant state of *surveillance* on this ship -- that Michael's reticence with her over the past months has had infinitely more to do with all the ways Michael is utterly unfit to choose lovers *who will not treat her poorly* than it does with anything else.

In -- some ways. At some times -- 

Michael winces and -- pauses in the corridor, ignoring the looks she receives as a *large* number of the crew members who share her duty-shift move past and around her on their way to eat, to play, to train, to *relax* --

And, perhaps, to make love to their illicit lovers. Starfleet frowns on fraternization, of course, but it is, in general, commanded by *realistic* people. So long as the differences in rank are not too great, so long as there are no disruptions or dereliction of duty, so long as Federation law is not being *broken* in some way...

A blind eye is turned. Any number of people meet their future partners and bond-mates in Starfleet, and very few even *attempt* to convince people that they had spent their pre-bond months and years celibate. 

Captains, however...

Captains are held to a higher standard, and Michael has always believed in this rule, respected it, *understood* it. 

It was a *part* of her fantasies about Philippa. It was *one* of the reasons she'd been working so *hard* to become a captain, herself. It -- 

Even though she had never truly imagined that Philippa would want to make a *partnership* with her -- Michael had *always* been entirely aware of the *fundamental* differences in their age and experience -- there could've been... something. 

A *relationship*. 

A -- welcoming. Philippa would have, perhaps, smiled in the way which always meant that she was proud of Michael, that she loved Michael, that Michael had performed every task perfectly -- just as Philippa had *known* she would. 

And she would mention *that* night, the night when she had invited Michael to her quarters for a game of Go, when she had introduced Michael to Chateau Picard, and *trounced* her time and again -- 

Increasingly *humiliatingly* as Michael had drunk more and more wine -- 

And she had teased that night, eyes bright and sharp -- 

She had promised to train Michael more *assiduously*, more *firmly* -- 

("I. I would like that. I would like to be trained -- firmly.") 

And Philippa had *blinked* at her -- 

("By -- by you. Only you." 

"Michael..." 

"I know -- of course you're the captain, and I wouldn't -- I *wouldn't*. But...) And Michael had reached for every *ounce* of her courage, every -- 

Every *bit* --

And she had leaned over, dizzy and flushed from the wine, hungry and flushed for *Philippa* -- 

She had leaned over and touched Philippa's hand, stroked her strong, scarred knuckles -- 

("Michael, don't --" 

"It. It can be anything. I would -- I've wanted.") 

And Michael had licked her lips, just -- 

Just to *wet* them, but not to -- 

Michael had lifted Philippa's strong hand, her *hard* hand, and she had brought it *to* her lips -- 

And Philippa had taken a breath -- 

And Michael had *hoped* -- 

But Philippa hadn't let Michael's kiss to her fingertips land. She had tugged her hand back -- 

("Michael... don't you think you could use... a little rest?" 

"I --" 

"We both know you hardly drink alcohol, at all." 

"It's *not* --" 

"It must be,") Philippa had said, firmly and quietly.

She had walked Michael back to her quarters, though -- 

She had caressed Michael's face at the *door* -- 

And -- 

And in Michael's dreams of being a captain, Philippa would caress her face just that way -- 

And perhaps say something about testing Michael's tolerance for Terran wines again -- 

And -- 

And then it would be perfect, just perfect, because Michael would perform every task she was given, perform them *correctly*, perform them with -- with the *flair* that Philippa had always *liked* in her -- 

She would be *good*, and Philippa's eyes would say that she'd known from the very beginning that Michael would be, that she'd only been *waiting* for Michael, that -- 

And -- Michael is only here, alone again. 

On the wrong ship, with the wrong people -- 

With the wrong *lover* -- 

"All right, Specialist?" 

And -- Gabriel. 

*Gabriel*, and he's looming over her from a very *precise* distance, and the frown on his face is sharply professional, but. 

His hands are folded so tightly behind his back that Michael can feel the strain in her own shoulders. 

His shoulders are *flexing* --

And his eyes are *ablaze*, belying the calm of his expression. 

She can't -- 

"Do you need *assistance*, Specialist." 

Michael *breathes* -- 

*Forces* herself to come to attention -- 

Gabriel narrows his *eyes* --

Michael *clenches* -- and winces -- 

"Burnham." And -- there's too much in Gabriel's voice, a *shake* under the gruff *command* -- 

She shakes her head *once*. "I -- I am well, Captain. I was only... gathering my thoughts." 

Gabriel flares his nostrils and stares -- 

And *stares* -- 

His shoulders *flex* and he's still *staring* -- 

"I... believe I should go," Michael says. "I am blocking the corridor, after all." She pulls on a rueful smile with *effort*.

Gabriel stares for too *long* -- but then nods once. "Report to sickbay if you need to, Specialist. We'll *all* need you on your feet when the time comes." 

"Yes, sir," she says, and waits to be -- 

"Dismissed," Gabriel says, and it's a whisper laid over a growl like linen, or -- 

"Sir," she says, and *moves*. 

She can still feel Gabriel watching her go.


	4. I'm sure this will all be just fine in the long run.

She should not, by any stretch of the imagination, be lingering in the corridor outside of Ash's quarters -- not *directly* after having been *braced* by *Gabriel*. 

She -- 

She is not in the right state of mind for anything *like* this -- 

She doesn't even know what the right state of mind *is* -- 

She doesn't know what she wants to *say* to Ash -- 

She rests her palm against the panel, anyway. 

She breathes. 

She -- 

And the door opens immediately, and Ash is looking down at her with shock *and* a blend of pleasure and concern. He is -- 

"Michael, I -- are you all right?" 

"Yes," she lies -- and then laughs ruefully. "No, not truly. I -- are you busy?"

Ash licks his lips -- and then gives her a quirked smile. "You don't honestly think I'll say *yes* to that, do you?" 

No. "I..." 

"Thought not. Don't be polite with me, Michael. That's -- that's the last thing I want." 

"Ash --" 

"Why don't we go get -- wait. Are you the kind of not-okay that can still deal with the mess right now?" 

Michael does her best not to *wince* -- 

And Ash manages to look both more amused and more *gently* concerned. 

Worried for her, and -- "We -- I know you have not had your meal, yet --" 

"*But* I'm an officer -- somehow -- and that means my personal synthesizer...?" And he raises an eyebrow at her. 

Michael *forces* back thoughts of her prior existence -- 

"Michael, I -- fuck. I'm --" 

She raises a hand. "Not that, please. I -- are you inviting me to dinner, Ash?" 

And his eyes widen, just like that. 

His lips part --

And his eyes *heat*, just a little. "Michael... you should always assume I'm asking you to spend time with me." 

Michael nods slowly, and -- 

("You'll break his heart.") 

And. "I enjoy that, Ash. I -- I enjoy you," she says, and feels herself blush -- 

Too *much* -- 

Ash is *staring* again -- 

Breathing with difficulty --

"I would like it if we could eat together tonight." 

"Anytime you want, Michael. I mean that," he says, and steps back into his quarters, gesturing her to follow. 

She does, and breathes -- 

And *breathes* -- 

And stops, because it's what she does when she enters Gabriel's quarters. What she does to -- 

To *establish* her sense of place in the necessarily small and *close* home of a lover. 

What she does to take them inside herself, even before -- 

"Michael...?"

She turns to smile ruefully at Ash. "I apologize --" 

"No, I -- you already said something is upsetting you," he says, and goes to the synthesizer, immediately ordering green tea for both of them. 

He brings her tea to where she has *stopped*, awkwardly, in the center of the room -- 

"Here. And I need you to know something, Michael." 

("You'll break his heart.") 

"Ash?" 

He smiles -- gently. Warmly. "I'm honored that you're willing to share... whatever it is with me. I'm honored that you consider me *enough* of a friend for that. I'm -- you've been there for me, right from the beginning --" 

"I -- I haven't --" 

"The fact that you haven't let me *date* you doesn't mean you haven't been there for me. It means... everything," he says, and gestures to his desk chair before moving to sit on the long edge of his bed. "Why don't you sit down and drink a little of that? You said it helps calm you down, right?" 

Michael hums and does just that. "I wonder, in this moment, how much you *listen* to the things I say, Ash." 

"Do you really? Wonder, I mean." 

Michael coughs -- 

"No, I -- don't. Don't listen to me --" 

"Ash..." 

"Fuck, I'm -- fucking this all up," he says, scooting back far enough to bang the back of his head against the wall -- "Ignore me. *Please*." 

Michael frowns and sets her tea down. 

"Don't --" 

She stands, and crosses to the bed, and sits beside Ash. 

"Michael, I..." 

She wonders, for long moments, how close is too close, how much is too *much* -- 

Ash sits up again and *grips* the edge of the bed to either side of his hips. "I need... too much," he says, and laughs painfully. 

Oh -- "*What* is too much, Ash?" 

He searches her eyes -- and then nods, slowly. "I think, maybe... maybe growing up like you did, in the *places* that you did... well. At least some of this is new to you?" 

"You... are speaking of relationships? Sexual and romantic relationships," she says, and frowns because everything in her demands it -- 

"Yeah, I -- that."

\-- despite, or perhaps because of, the essential truth of it all. She looks at her knees -- 

She thinks of Tilly -- 

And Ash's big hand is on her shoulder -- lightly and *gently* on her shoulder. "It's not -- it's all me making *this* awkward, Michael. I mean, I *know* you're fucked-up about something, and I'm -- I'm this close to throwing myself at you. I don't know about Vulcan schools, but human schools teach kids not to *do* things like that before the kids learn *multiplication*." 

Michael blinks -- but. "It is... an important lesson," she says, testing the thought in her mouth. 

"I am *really* worried, now, about what you *have* learned --" 

Michael waves a hand. "You are, I believe, speaking about questions of sexual consent?" 

"Uh -- well -- a *little*, but also --" 

"I was raised on a planet where sexual *consent* boiled down, most often, to a willingness -- or lack of willingness -- to fight one's mate to a bruised, bloody, and *wounded* standstill." 

Ash stares at her.

Michael smiles ruefully. "I know, already, that this has... shaped me." 

Ash licks his lips and frowns *precisely* like he has many questions he is not certain it's *safe* to ask. 

Michael laughs quietly and bumps his shoulder the way Tilly would. "Ask, please." 

"Yeah?" 

"Please." 

"Then..." 

"Mm? *Ask*, Ash." 

He gives her... a shrewd look. "I'd like to *start* by asking if you're, maybe, upset about... whoever it is you *are* dating." 

"I --" 

"You told me -- a little. Very little. You told me that you were 'focused' on a 'prior relationship' one of the few times you actually paid attention to my flirting --" 

"I always... pay attention," she says, and blushes. 

Ash blushes, as well -- and then shakes his head. "We both know the relationship is current, Michael, and -- I'm not asking. I'm *not*. I won't *push* you for your secrets. All right?" 

She raises an eyebrow. 

He smiles... crookedly. "I'd like to push you for the walls *around* your secrets. I -- please." 

Michael closes her eyes -- and nods. "The relationship is current, and I am emotionally compromised because of it," she says, and opens her eyes again. 

She can hear Ash swallow beside her. "What... could you tell me what 'emotionally compromised' means? Or -- a little about it." 

Michael smiles at Ash wryly. "It means that *he* wants a long-term commitment, and that *I* want a long-term commitment -- when I can *admit* that to myself --" 

"Oh." 

"-- but that I am not always certain that we want long-term commitments with each *other*, as opposed to... to the people we are trying, between us, to *force into existence*." 

Ash squeezes his eyes shut -- opens them again nearly immediately. "Right, I -- right. I... I kinda hate myself for this, but I need to ask. Another question about us. The two of us." 

("You'll break his heart.") 

"Please do," she says, and reaches up to touch his hand on her shoulder. 

"Michael. I -- are you and your lover -- no. I can't do this." 

"Ash?" 

"Are you and *Lorca* monogamous." 

Michael *yanks* her emotions, her thoughts, her *self* far behind her face -- 

"Don't -- don't lie to me about this, Michael. Please. *Please*." 

"Ash --" 

"Don't *lie* to me. You're in his quarters every night for *hours* -- and *anyone* who decides to ask the computer about your *location* *knows* that." 

Michael *grunts*, feeling her eyes widen -- 

"Yeah," Ash says, and his smile is full of -- shards. "I *know* why you're keeping that secret -- just about anyone in your position *would*, I think. It's just that I have no *idea* what would make Lorca so *careless* about something that could -- and *would* -- get his ass court-martialed." 

Michael shivers. "He... wasn't careless." 

"Michael, of *course* he was --" 

"Ash. Everyone who asks the computer where I am when I am in Gabriel's quarters is told that I'm in one of the full-containment labs. If they ask what I'm working on, they are told --" 

"That. That the information is classified?" And Ash's voice is low, shocked -- 

"Yes." 

"And -- and it doesn't tell them anything about when..." 

"There will never be information about when my 'shift' will end, no." 

"*Michael*, I -- *why*? Why *me*? Why the fuck do I get the *truth*?"

Michael strokes his fingers -- 

Squeezes *gently* -- 

"Michael..." 

She takes -- a breath. "He means for you, specifically, to know. He didn't -- tell me this --" 

"*Fuck*. Does he -- what is he -- what does he *want*?" 

"He is the sort of man who enjoys *rousing* and *lengthy* bouts of ruthlessly applied emotional intimacy... before engaging in other sorts of intimacy entirely." 

Ash makes a soft sound -- "Then. Is he chasing me away or trying to -- to..." 

He is training you to accept him. To think about him. To *obsess* about him *sexually* -- in precisely the ways he *wants* you to. Michael winces -- 

"Michael -- fuck, are you *okay*?" 

"No," she says, and looks to Ash again. 

Studies his large, dark eyes -- 

The way the light shines on his soft-seeming beard -- 

"Tell me what -- what I *can* do, here," he says, and squeezes her shoulder again. "Do you -- fuck, *can* I punch him in the face? I'd *like* to --"

"I... we speak about you, when we are together," she says, and has no idea where to *go* with -- 

"You -- and *Lorca*?"

"Yes." 

"What -- what are the conversations *about*?"

She shakes her head -- 

"Michael, *please* --" 

"He makes jokes about his jealousy of you. About his tendency to put me in positions where I *must* distance myself from you in one way or another --" 

"But he's not *really* joking?" 

Michael frowns and shakes her head. 

"Then... what?" And Ash's eyes are even wider than they were before -- 

His pulse is pounding in his throat -- 

His need is *plain* -- 

And she never knew this about herself when she was onboard the _Shenzhou_ \-- she is not certain how *true* it was back then -- but the person she is now... 

The hungry, needy, desperate, *sexual* person she is... finds need like this more than a little irresistible. 

But... 

Precisely how much of this desire for -- this urge *toward* -- Ash is native to her, as opposed to something which grows symbiotically with the *invasive* species of Gabriel's constant *manipulation*? "I don't..." 

"Michael... this." Ash shudders and swallows *again*. "This isn't a question -- you don't have to answer it *now*." 

"I -- want to." 

"Can you? With every -- every part of your heart?" 

Michael shivers again. "That is what *you* want of me." 

"I don't think there's anything strange about it, Michael," he says, and smiles crookedly again. "I..." He shakes his head. "Look, if you want me? I'm here. I'm *here*. For *anything* --" 

"There is a caveat at the end of that sentence." 

"Yeah, I -- there is." 

"Ash --" 

"Talk to him. Find out exactly what you *both* want from -- from me," he says, and *shudders*. "Find out what you both *need*. Because --" 

"You will give it to -- us?" 

His smile turns wry once more. "I don't actually know that. The fact that I get *hard* for Lorca doesn't mean I'm not sitting here thinking deeply -- *again* -- about punching him in the *face*." 

"I do not need you to fight my battles for me," she says, drawing back and sitting straight -- 

"Who says I am? Mm? He's jerking us *both* around, Michael. He's -- I wonder if *he* even knows what he wants -- as opposed to making sure he has enough human-shaped *toys* around to ensure that *you* never get *bored* with him," he says, and raises his eyebrows. 

Michael blinks, and -- swallows.

"Let me guess: That *does* sound like something he'd do," Ash says, and *looks* at her. 

"I... would like to know why that thought occurred to you." 

"When it didn't occur to you...? Well, for one, you didn't *know* he was all but *broadcasting* your affair with him to me. For another... heh. He trains with me -- ostensibly to stay fit himself while checking on the new crew member, but he's always extremely obvious about offering just a little more than that," he says, and raises an eyebrow.

"More... sexually?" 

"That's *very* ambiguous, Michael. Deniable. What's definitely there is... a chance at friendship, so long as it's the friendship between a capital-C Captain and his willing subordinate." 

That -- there are many thoughts about that. Many *images* -- no. "Are there... other things?" 

"You believe me?" 

"Yes. Please go on." 

"Are you -- no, I'll keep going. He keeps me on-shift with both of you. He absolutely doesn't *have* to... but he does. There have been multiple occasions when the duty roster would've been a *lot* better served with me on a *different* shift, and?" 

"He is not the sort of man to make that sort of... mistake," she says, and frowns. 

"No, he isn't. And then there's the way he is with you. There's the way he is with *us*. Because you're there when we're working, and *mostly* there when we're *eating* -- in public, of course -- but then...

"Then you're not there, at all. How many times do you think you've begged off spending time with me because Lorca's summoned you off to 'spend more time in the labs'? Because *I've* counted." 

"I see. I... see."

"He lets me get this close -- but no closer. He keeps me in the *wings*. Just in case. And you didn't see it because... because you've never *been* someone's toy before." 

Michael grunts and *grips* at her own knees --

"It gets so you learn the signs, Michael. Sooner or later." 

"Ash..." 

"Shh, wait," he says, and looks *into* her. 

"I am waiting. Please -- tell me." 

"I'll always tell *you* anything, Michael. But -- this: I get hard for him. I think he's a *fantastic* captain -- in part *because* he's a scheming, manipulative bastard. I *literally* owe him my life and *sanity* -- even though I'm pretty sure that, at the time, he was *mostly* looking to use me to get the hell out of that prison, himself. 

"I was *convenient*, you know?" 

Michael -- breathes. And nods. 

"Yeah, you do. But, well, the motives don't matter as much as the results. That's something I *know* you believe in --" 

"I -- try not to. Now." 

He looks at her again -- winces. "All right, that's fair. But that's the kind of thing that lives at the heart of us, Michael. Either you're the kind of person who *vets* other people for *thought*-crimes... or you're not." 

"Thought-crimes -- I." And Michael stops. 

Considers -- 

"You believe that trying to police one's own motives instead of one's own *actions* -- is the same as making oneself into an... extremist." 

"I wouldn't go that far -- but." 

Michael takes that in. 

Weighs it in her palm with -- with everything *else*. 

There is more to be said. 

"What are you thinking?" 

"Ash... he is not 'letting' me do anything with regards to you. He does not... it is not only *his* choice when he is summoning me." 

Ash winces and jerks back -- just a little. "You're choosing to ditch me -- every time. That's what you're saying?" 

And it isn't -- 

It's not quite that -- 

She never wants to *hurt* Ash, never wanted to make him second-*best* -- but. 

Michael is -- abruptly and *deeply* -- certain that she does not have anything *resembling* the skill to get those thoughts out without humiliating Ash. Without -- hurting him. 

Badly. 

The only way forward is honesty. "I love him, Ash. I. I believe I may be *in* love with him --" 

"Even with everything he does to you and the *other* people you -- care about?" There is a plea in his voice, and a deeper one in his eyes. 

There is -- 

But he is not lying to her, in this moment. 

"One of the ways we are... shaping each other --" 

"You try to make him a better man? How well is that working." And -- it's not a question. 

It's -- 

"How well is whatever he's doing to *you* working, Michael?"

She squeezes her eyes shut. "I do not know whether we are monogamous --" 

"What?" 

"I *do* know that he would... lose himself, were I to fall in love with someone else." 

"Then you're *not*. Not in any kind of *serious* --" 

"I also know... that I have valued you, Ash," she says, and opens her eyes to *face* him again. "I care about you. I would lose many parts of *myself* if I lost you." 

"My -- friendship?" And Ash is... flushed.

Gripping the edge of the bed again -- 

"My -- Michael, tell me. *Tell* me." 

She wants to tell him about desire. 

She wants to tell him about the sense-impressions she has of what the two of them *may* have done during the time-loop -- she knows, deep inside, that she *would* love the feel of his *mouth*. 

His *beard* -- 

But.

"I cannot give you a romantic relationship, Ash. And. I refuse to be a party to using you --" 

"Even if I want that, Michael? Even if I'd *take* that." 

She frowns, and stands -- 

"Wait --" 

"Ash. I would not be the person you care for if I allowed this."

Ash inhales sharply -- "Would you be the person *Lorca* cares for?"

That... Michael smiles ruefully. "One of them, yes." 

He searches her face for long moments -- and then stands, as well, keeping himself a polite distance away. "Then... all right." 

She nods. "I will go --" 

"Hit the mess, all right? I need to know..." He laughs with pain. "I need to know you're all *right* in at least some way." 

"I will always be far better than that with you as a friend, Ash," she says, and moves to the door. 

"Michael." 

"Yes?" 

"You wanted me. You *want* me. It's not just -- wish-fulfillment on my part. Right?" And there's too *much* of a question in that, but -- 

"Ash, the desire I feel for you, the *need* I feel for you --" 

He holds up a hand. "It's not enough. I know," he says, and smiles ruefully. "And now I *also* know that I haven't become... completely blind." 

Michael blushes -- and hums. "You would not be much of a pilot if you had..." 

Ash shivers. "Don't worry, Michael. I know *exactly* how to stay... focused." 

Michael refuses to let herself swallow -- but she can't entirely hold back the shiver. "I... goodnight, Ash." 

He nods, and she can feel him watching every *picosecond* of her leaving -- 

Of her leaving him. 

There is a cold pit in her stomach -- 

There is a sense, within her, that she has made a terrible -- unforgivable -- error. 

She can't stop her mind from *assaulting* her with every image, every memory, every *moment* when she has been alone and felt so --

So desperately *lonely*. 

Hadn't she always promised herself that if there *was* someone who would welcome her, someone who wanted to be *near* her -- 

*Her*, and not any of the *images* of people *almost* like herself that she painted for the sake of Amanda, Sarek, her own needy *pride*. 

She had *promised* herself -- and the fact that she had *stopped* repeating the promise not long after being assigned to the _Shenzhou_ \-- 

The fact that she hadn't even *tried* to make the promise while she was imprisoned -- 

She does not think promises like that... wear off. 

They grow older, and harder, and *stronger*, winding around and around your soul until. 

Until there are only so many places it can go. 

Until there are only so many things it can *be*. 

In this moment, she is a woman who has *willfully* denied herself a lover -- a *true* lover -- simply because she does not feel as *strongly* about him as she feels about the man who *manipulates* her all the time. 

She has pushed Ash away, chosen something fundamentally *corrupt* -- 

("It doesn't have to be healthy...") 

She hears herself make a low, desperate sound -- 

She walks *faster* -- 

She -- she tries to get *away* from it, from the truth, from *herself*, because even if Ash *does* continue to be her friend -- 

Even if they can speak, and touch with camaraderie -- 

She has put *limits* on what she can *have*. 

She -- she has *rationed* her stores of companionship -- or perhaps she means that she *must* ration them now, that it's not *safe* to do anything else -- 

She makes -- another *sound* -- 

Brings her hand to her mouth -- 

Reflexively checks to be sure the corridor is *empty* -- 

And that, of course, is when *Gabriel* has the computer transport him to a space *directly in front of her*. 

She steps *back* -- 

"*Don't* -- I." Gabriel winces and shakes his head, reaching out with one hand. "I apologize for that. I am... constitutionally incapable of watching you hurt in ways you don't *enjoy*." 

Michael shudders and squeezes her *eyes* shut -- 

"Michael... let me make it better." 

"You --" 

"I promise I can," he says, low and sure --

And, when Michael opens her eyes, *Gabriel's* eyes are -- hard. *Set*.

Hungry. So -- 

Michael tries to *think*, to remember what she's doing, what she's *supposed* to be -- 

"You'll never be lonely with me, Michael," he says, and -- 

And she doesn't remember the moment between *choking* on a sound and slapping her hand down on his -- 

She doesn't remember the *decision*, and now Gabriel is transporting them to his quarters -- 

Pulling her *close* -- 

Breathing her in, as Michael shakes in the perpetual -- and the perpetually *promising* -- gloom. 

In Gabriel's arms. 

"Let's talk about how we're going to... fix this. Mm?" 

Michael closes her eyes.


	5. I'd say he's definitely affected, Michael.

Gabriel walks them to the couch and tugs them down, laying himself out beneath Michael. 

*For* her. 

She can't -- 

She can't not feel it, feel him, feel his *purposeful* *solicitude*. 

She can see, in her mind, Tilly's gentle smile -- 

("You're taking a break from him, Michael. You -- you just are.") 

She can see it, and she can push the question of just how little time *Tilly* expected her to last before she came back here -- aside. 

She sighs, and rests her ear over the pound of his heart. 

*Gabriel* sighs, and wraps his arms around her -- 

Pulls one knee up so that he can hold her between his thighs -- 

"My Michael. He won't leave you, you know..." 

"N-- Don't." 

"Shh, wait. Just listen for a little while." 

Michael shudders -- 

Feels herself stiffen -- 

And feels her body relax, all over, entirely without her permission, when Gabriel holds her just a little more firmly. 

A little more *purposefully*. 

He sees her. 

She *shivers* -- "I am... listening." 

He makes a soft sound, a *hungry* sound --

He squeezes her so *firmly* -- 

"Michael... mm. First, let's clarify a couple of things, all right?" 

She swallows and nods. 

"I've seen... every one of your psychiatric evaluations. I've *pored* over the profiles on you -- both the ones provided by actual Starfleet psychologists and the ones produced by AI sampling of your various test results. It's abundantly --" 

"I know," she says *thickly* -- 

She clears her throat. 

"I know. What you know about me." 

"Then say it, Michael. Own it." 

"I --" She frowns. "You believe it will make a difference if I do so." 

"I will *help* it make a difference. I promise," he says, and starts stroking her back firmly -- 

Perfectly -- 

"I'll always help you, Michael..." 

Michael swallows and nods. "Then -- I have spent significant portions of my life lacking trustworthy peers and confidants. When there have been such people, I have not taken *enough* of what they offered to me. When. When I was imprisoned, not only was there no one for me to confide in on a day-to-day basis, I was faced with the undeniable proof that it was my own fault that there was no one there." 

"Good, Michael, but there's more --" 

"I am... a fundamentally *lonely* person. Solitude -- of all kinds -- wounds me more often than not, even when I am positive that I *would* rather be alone." 

Gabriel makes another soft noise, but -- "Good. *Good*. More?" 

Michael closes her eyes. "I push people away when I feel vulnerable, but -- not all the time." 

"When don't you, mm?" 

She swallows again. "I am -- starved for companionship. When it is offered in a way that makes it perfectly clear that I am... desired, or more than that, I will *cling* to the person offering that companionship... whether or not they are truly... what I need." 

Gabriel inhales with a shudder. "There you are. My Michael..." He moves one hand until he can caress her cheek -- 

Pet her *mouth* with his thumb -- 

"You're perfect, you know. Just as you are." 

Michael frowns. "I... am not soothed. I do not see how this was supposed to --" 

"This: You know yourself well enough to know what you do and *don't* need --" 

"No, I --" 

"You know yourself well enough to see your vulnerabilities even as they're being *exploited*." 

Michael frowns and -- listens. 

"And? In the end, you know yourself well enough to know the difference between exploitation you desire and exploitation you don't want any part of," he says, and *presses* on her mouth with his thumb -- 

When she opens her mouth to *speak*, it slips in just enough for her to taste his *salt*. 

"Michael..." 

She shakes her head once -- 

"All right, not yet. Tell me... everything." 

"Ash -- Ash did not wish to *exploit* me, Gabriel." 

"Are you sure about that...?" 

"Not -- not everyone thinks like *you*," she says, and pushes up enough to *look* at him. 

Gabriel's smile is... crookedly rueful -- but still knowing. "I agree with you *wholeheartedly* -- about that." 

"Then *what* --" 

"I never said that Tyler was making a *conscious* decision to -- try to -- exploit your vulnerabilities, Michael." 

Michael *blinks* -- 

("And if I want that? If I'd *take* that.) 

"I -- oh." 

"Yes...?" 

"You are saying... that the desire to exploit an individual's vulnerabilities -- no," she says, and frowns again. "I... a moment, please." 

"Take *all* the time you need. This is... too important to rush," Gabriel says, and cups her hips -- 

Squeezes them -- 

"You'll always be far too important for anything but... the best of me. And everyone *else*." 

Michael blushes and -- thinks about that. 

*Considers* it, turning it over and over with her memories of Ash's... passion. His hunger and desire and -- need. 

And -- "I believe that what you are saying is that need -- and love? -- can *drive* a person into engaging in exploitative behaviors, even if that person intends nothing of the kind." 

Gabriel inclines his head -- and then smiles at her so *proudly*, so -- 

No. "Gabriel. This is a very self-*serving* belief for you to have." 

"Perhaps. But --" 

"Not *'perhaps'* --" 

"Two things, Michael," he says, and moves one hand from her hip so that he can waggle two fingers *at* her. "Just two." 

"That is never the *truth* -- but. I am listening." 

Gabriel laughs brightly -- 

Drinks her *in* -- 

"My beautiful girl. My beautiful, *brilliant* girl..." 

And for a moment Michael is caught in her own fantasies of being young and desperate and *pinned* -- no. 

No. 

She shakes that *off*. "Gabriel. Tell me *why* it isn't self-serving." 

"Of course. First and foremost: I would *never* try to claim that it's *only* my love for you which makes me into the sort of person who *exploits* other people." 

"I..." 

"There are, of course, all of those other people to be *considered*," he says, and raises his eyebrows. 

She shivers and -- "I -- go on." 

He nods. "Second? The fact that the exploiter is in love? The fact that the exploiter has only the *best* of intentions -- or no intentions at *all* beyond being closer *to* the person they love? 

"It doesn't matter." 

"But..."

"The ends justify -- or *condemn* -- the means, Michael. I'm in full agreement with Tyler on this one."

Michael considers *that*, but -- she frowns. "I do not believe you mean that." 

"Which part, mm?" 

She shakes her head. "You have put a great deal of *effort* into making me believe that the most important aspect of my *crimes* was the *intent* behind them." 

Another *proud* look -- 

Gabriel settles both hands on her hips again -- 

Squeezes *perfectly*, but -- 

"Gabriel." 

"Mm. Anything you say, Michael. Here: No belief system is one hundred percent consistent, no matter *how* hard you've worked at perfecting it. Unless you're an AI... or a clinically *perfect* psychopath."

Michael's expression, she knows, is *pinched*. "That's... all?"

Gabriel grins. "I think you've *already* discovered for yourself how inconsistent, irrational, and *illogical* people in love can be..." 

Michael *flushes* -- "I..." 

He *strokes* her hips. "Will we talk about that, do you think?" His voice is soft, coaxing, *promising*. "You don't know how *happy* you make me..." 

"I -- even though I have not said -- those words to *you*?" 

"Didn't you?" 

"Gabriel --" 

"We both know I was watching -- and listening to -- every *moment* of your conversations. It was kind of you to leave the schematics of your stalking implements right there on your PADD where anyone *dedicated* could find them..." 

That -- "You could have simply ordered the ship's *computer* to spy on me!" 

"And if I wanted to... walk in your footsteps? Feel what *you* feel every last time you need me just that *much*?" 

Michael -- breathes. "That... makes a great deal of sense." 

"But you don't want it to...?" 

She frowns. "I am not certain *why* I am uncomfortable -- oh. You are... inhabiting my *skin* again --" 

"As much as possible -- but. There is a difference between what I want and what Tilly has... suggested." 

Michael raises an eyebrow as pointedly as she is *able* -- when she is still *touching* Gabriel. She is looming over him, hands braced on his wonderful *chest*, and -- 

And he is gazing up at her with wonder, and pleasure, and *joy*, and -- so many other things. 

Michael raises her eyebrow *higher*. 

Gabriel laughs *delightedly*. "As you *say*, Michael. I -- mm. The difference, as I see it?" 

Michael continues to *look* at him -- 

And Gabriel's grin could, perhaps, fuel the _Discovery_ for the length of a journey across the *quadrant*. "The *difference*... is that when I crawl into your skin? I *keep* you there *with* me." 

"I." 

"Just as you keep *me*," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

That... "Are you certain of this, Gabriel?" 

He sobers himself -- "I am. I *promise* I am." 

"But..." 

"You're thinking about how much time I've spent *turning* you, yes? *Twisting* your morality." 

"Is there a way to *avoid* that?" 

"I --" 

"I am *also* thinking of how much time and effort I've put into *attempting* to turn *you*." 

Gabriel's expression is nearly a *moue*. "Don't sell yourself *short*, Michael. You've done wonders -- by Federation standards -- for me." 

She narrows her *eyes*. 

"I am, actually, *entirely* serious about that -- and I'll go into detail about it as soon as you'd *like* -- but. Let's think about those efforts of yours, mm?" 

"What about them in *particular*, Gabriel?" 

"How about the fact that you've never once tried to pretend that I *wasn't* the man I am?" 

"But -- why *would* I?" 

"This: How about the fact that you've never once even *looked* like you were attempting to *punish* me for not *behaving* 'properly'?"

"That -- that would be *abusive* --" 

"It *truly* would be. This, too: How about the fact that you *let* me *give* you everything there is to *know* about myself -- demand and *crave* from me that I do that?

"I *have* to --" 

"No. You don't," Gabriel says, and -- looks into her. 

"What... what do you mean?" 

"I mean that... at *any* point in our relationship, you might have decided that I -- the *truth* of me -- was too *much* for you. Whatever 'too much' actually meant at the time. You might have started to punish me for simply *saying things you did not want to hear*." 

"No --" 

"You might have started to *legislate* our conversations -- every last one of them -- so that *every* time I said something which suggested that I was guilty of some thought-crime -- you'll have to tell Tyler what an excellent word that is, for me, from the bottom of my dirty Imperialist *heart* --" 

Michael chokes on a *laugh* -- 

And Gabriel winks at her -- and beams. "Oh, Michael. You didn't. You didn't do *any* of that. You let me *speak* with you. You let me *be* with you -- *me*, not the person you'd feel comfortable bringing home to your parents. And I *think* you've noticed..." And he raises his eyebrows. 

Michael licks her lips. "You... allow *me* to be *myself*." 

"With me, Michael. *Always* with me. See --" 

She holds up a hand to stop him and -- thinks about it. 

Holds it up to the *light* to try to find *holes* -- 

But. "You believe that even though we *do* work to change aspects of each other's selves, it is not the same as wanting each other to be entirely different people." 

He shrugs -- but it isn't light. "Michael, in the end? You don't have to change a damned thing to have me panting after you until I drop *dead*."

"And I... have shown clear signs that I feel the same about you," she says, and nods thoughtfully. 

Gabriel smiles at her as though she is *endearing*. "You're not sure about that, yet...?" 

"I wish... I want to *share* you with my loved ones. I want them to see that you are -- someone for me." 

"Good enough for you...?" 

"Not that. Or --" She frowns and considers that.

Gabriel sighs and squeezes her hips again -- 

Strokes around to her ass -- 

Cups and *lifts* -- 

"Oh -- wait. Let me *think*, please --" 

Gabriel makes that soft noise again -- and moves his hands back to her hips. "Anything. Anything." 

Michael shivers and -- studies Gabriel. 

The hunger in his eyes --

The needy *fire* which never goes *out* when she's near, whether or *not* they are alone -- 

The -- passion. 

The *drives* -- multiple -- within him that seemingly make up the whole of him, as if he is a living *urge* -- 

A walking *demand* from the *multiverse* -- and. 

"I..." 

"Tell me. Tell me everything you're *thinking*." 

She licks her lips -- and smiles around the pound of her *heart*. "I was thinking... about something Amanda told me when I was -- small. Very young." 

He raises his eyebrows -- 

And it's the most natural thing in the universe to let her smile become the one which always does -- 

"Michael..."

\-- that. "She spoke to me about riding horses on Earth. She told me that she'd done it often, and that it was... the most exhilarating *thing*." 

"Yes?"

"She told me that there would always be something inherently *moving* about straddling seven hundred and fifty kilos of *willful*, *mindful* bone and *muscle*... and having the will and mind beneath her allow itself to be guided by someone as insignificant and *small* as herself." She forces herself to ignore her own blush... and she raises an eyebrow. 

Gabriel's breathing hitches -- 

Hitches *again* -- 

"Am I so... moving?" And his voice is rough, low, *starved* -- 

Michael is nodding before she can stop herself -- 

"Am I..." Gabriel winces in *obvious* lust. "Let me. *Let* me."

And Michael -- aches. Not only in her cunt, but also her hands, her abdomen, the insides of her thighs -- "I want... I want to be *touched*," she says, *dimly*. "I mean --" 

Gabriel sits up, sudden and quick, and pulls her into a kiss -- 

A *deeper* kiss when Michael catches *up* to Gabriel and *gasps* -- 

He holds her, *holds* her -- 

*Teases* her tongue with his own for long moments -- and then she moans and *sucks* his tongue helplessly -- 

*Begs* for it with her lips -- 

Begs and -- no. She licks the *underside* of his tongue again and again -- 

*Promises* -- 

Gabriel shudders and lifts them off the couch -- 

*Moves* them to the bedroom, and Michael is wrapping herself around him, tugging, *urging* -- 

Gabriel *breaks* the kiss when they get to the bed -- 

"No --" 

"Don't think -- I know we have more to talk about, Michael. I know that -- and I won't distract us when the time comes," he says -- promises. 

"Yes -- oh, yes --" And Michael *knows* that she's not really answering the things he'd *said*, but -- 

But Gabriel is setting her down and starting to *strip* her with rapid, practiced speed -- 

"Please -- I'll *get* this --" 

"*Let* me --" 

"Take *your* clothes off, Gabriel, *please* --" 

Gabriel growls and bites her *mouth* -- 

Michael's *hips* jerk, needy and *sudden* -- 

Gabriel pulls back, licks his lips -- "Michael... should I be hard on you tonight? Mm?" 

Oh. 

"Should I be... the mind and *will* --" 

"The d-drive. The *urge*, and -- and I don't know what I'm *talking* about --" 

"I do," Gabriel says, soft and sure. "I know... all about it," he says, and steps back again -- 

Begins to strip himself -- 

So *quickly*, and -- 

Michael won't waste time *either*, but -- "What -- what do you know?" She throws her top across the room and sits to remove her shoes and socks -- 

"I know that we've been... dancing around things like this. That we haven't had everything we *could* have -- and certainly not everything you *want*." 

"I -- I --" 

"Not everything we *both* want, Michael," he says, opening his trousers -- 

Sighing *hungrily* -- 

Michael moans and reaches to cup his cock through his underwear, to feel and -- but. 

He catches her wrist. 

Michael blinks. "No?" 

"Finish taking your clothes off," he -- orders. Not just says. 

Michael considers that *while* twisting her wrist back and forth in Gabriel's grip -- though not trying to break that grip. 

She -- does she want *this*? Gabriel has given other orders in their other encounters, but they've always been at least half-*desperate* -- and at least as much imploring as commanding. 

This is... different. 

Strange, and -- 

"Mm. Oh, Michael... have you *not* dreamed of this...?" 

Michael -- breathes. "Not -- not *quite* --" 

"Then tell me what's *improper* about my approach. Please," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

And doesn't release her *wrist*. 

She is starting to *sweat* -- 

She must answer. "I am... not *certain* what would be best for me in this paradigm, Gabriel." 

"But you *do* have some ideas. I know you do." 

"I --" 

"Give them to me," he says, and his voice is still so low, so *even* -- 

And she can start there: "I believe... that I am not enjoying your self-control as much as I *could* be," she says, and smiles ruefully. 

Gabriel sighs -- and then immediately shudders all over. "You like it when I *lose* control." 

"I -- yes." 

"You like it -- but. It makes sense. My Michael has spent far, *far* too much time --" 

"With. With people who were not affected by me in any... appreciable manner." 

Gabriel cups his own cock with his free hand -- 

"Oh --" 

"Not the way I would've put it, but *exactly* what I wanted to say just the same," he says, and *squeezes* himself -- 

She licks her lips -- 

"You want me hungry for you --" 

"Yes. I -- always." 

"You want to see it... all *over* me," he says. "Don't you." 

Michael nods and almost can't *stop* nodding -- 

She's still staring at his hand -- 

His *working* hand -- 

"Michael... should I jerk off for you again? Would you like that?" 

"Yes, but *no*," she says, and laughs desperately -- 

And Gabriel grins and *releases* her wrist -- 

"Oh -- Gabriel --" 

"*Strip* -- and I'll do the same." 

"Yes -- *yes*," she says, and *shoves* her trousers and undershorts down -- 

"Love the way you *smell* --" 

She doesn't *trip* on the bundle of her clothes, but -- no. She throws them *away* -- 

And Gabriel is holding his own underwear -- up. Between them. 

He's naked, and she still has her *bra* on -- no. She gets *rid* of that -- 

Gabriel follows the bra's trajectory across the room with his *gaze* -- and continues to hold his underwear up. 

"Gabriel...?" 

"I'd like to watch you sucking on these, Michael." 

Michael grunts -- 

"I'd like that *so* much..." And Gabriel grins *hungrily*. "Well. There's no telling *how* crazy I might get." 

*Fuck* -- but she's still taking the shorts from his fingers -- 

Gabriel pants -- 

She's still stroking the shorts, *feeling* for wetness -- the shorts are black and it's far too dim in here to *see* -- 

"You look like you're *critiquing* the wet spots on my shorts..." 

She looks *up*. "Does it bother you?" 

"*Absolutely* not, Michael. It's just making it *exceedingly* difficult not to start *stroking*." 

"Oh --" And she takes his cock in her *left* hand -- 

"*Fuck*, Michael -- squeeze. Squeeze just like --" 

\-- *as* her fingers find an especially damp place on his shorts. She shivers and brings it to her mouth -- 

"*Hnh* -- fuck -- fuck, *please* squeeze --" 

She *sucks*, and the flavors are stronger than she's become accustomed to, thicker and -- muskier. The scents are -- massive. *Drugging*. She wants to *bury* her face in his groin -- 

Nuzzle at his *hair* while he pets her, caresses her -- 

She tugs the shorts a bit to the *right* -- oh. 

Wetter. *Hungrier* -- 

Gabriel has, perhaps, been aroused for quite some time.

She considers that while she *strokes* Gabriel's cock -- 

Gabriel *growls* -- 

While she hums and sucks and -- 

"I... am going to fuck your sweet little cunt until you're so sensitive that you come, just a little, every time you sit down on something *hard*." 

Michael blinks and tugs the shorts free, feeling dazed from the scents, the power -- 

The feel of him in her *hand*, thick and slick and *ready* -- but. 

She frowns. "I am not certain my body *works* that way, Gabriel." 

Gabriel growls and *yanks* the shorts out of her hand -- tosses them aside. "I *am* certain that we ought to give it a *try*." 

"I --" 

And then she's fighting *reflexively* --

Gabriel's attack had come so *quickly*, so *randomly* -- 

He's throwing strike after strike and trying to back her into a corner, trying to take her ability to *maneuver* -- *no*. 

She tries a sweep that she knows, full well, won't *work* -- 

Gabriel leaps back and right -- 

Michael *moves* -- she has room again, though the furniture is something of a problem with Gabriel coming after her even more ruthlessly, even more -- 

But those are *Vulcan* fighting techniques. It. 

Oh. 

Michael doesn't pause, doesn't let herself *consider*. She just gives it back in kind, keeping the fight in a small section of the room, a small area of *controlled* brutality -- 

Gabriel's smile is wild, bright, hungry -- *unaffected* by the blows Michael is landing --

Her own smile feels *stuck* to her face as she kicks to *miss* his achingly *erect* cock -- 

Her own smile feels like something she could wear, if she wished, for a *lifetime*. Something which allowed her to be powerful, naked, *human* -- 

She fights *harder*, and they're bruising each other now, hurting -- 

Still aiming to *miss* the most sensitive targets, but not being *gentle*, not -- 

"I *never* wish you to be *gentle*," she says, pants -- 

He growls and strikes for her *face* -- 

She leans *back* -- 

He grabs her by the *dripping* cunt -- her knees buckle, she can't -- 

She can't stand *straight* -- 

But then he wraps his other hand around her throat and *yanks* her upright, holds her by the throat and *keeps* her by the cunt, and they're both still smiling, still panting, still -- 

"This is not how you *stop* me in the fantasies," she says. *Quietly* -- Gabriel is holding her throat *firmly*. 

"No...? Then how," he says, and walks her to the bed. Walks her just like *that*, and everywhere she's taken a hit, she's buzzing, humming, thrilled -- 

*Ready*. She needs -- 

And then Gabriel squeezes her throat hard enough to make her stick her *tongue* out -- "Answer *faster*, Michael." 

Michael bucks -- 

*Rides* Gabriel's hand -- 

And Gabriel sighs and *flexes* the hand around her throat -- 

Michael groans in her *chest* -- 

"I suppose I should *let* you answer..." And Gabriel releases her with both hands, *lifts* her with one arm under her back and the other slung under her knees -- 

"I -- I --" 

And *tosses* her onto the bed. "There. *Now* answer." 

Michael gasps laughter -- 

Giggles and spreads her *legs* -- 

"What was the *question*, Gabriel?" 

"How do I *end* the sparring when I need you too much to *play*," he says, crawling onto the bed at the foot -- 

Crawling up between her legs -- 

Up and up until he's *looming*. "How do I *make* you behave, mm?" 

Michael can't *stop* herself from *petting* Gabriel with the insides of her thighs, but -- "Pinning. You pin me -- every time." 

"Gentle or -- no. You want it hard from me. You want it..." He inhales with another shudder. "The pin has to hurt at least a little, too." 

"Yes --" 

"Do I ever stop hurting you...?" 

"I stop *thinking* about it --" 

"Because I make you feel... just that right. Just that..." Gabriel leans in to sniff her *throat* -- and bite it *viciously* -- 

"*Please*!" 

And then he's gripping her cunt in one hand again, squeezing it and pressing her outer lips in just the right way to *tease* her clit -- 

Michael groans and tries to work her hips, tries to *urge* -- 

And Gabriel *smacks* her cunt, hard enough to make a cracking sound -- 

Michael doesn't *know* what sound she makes, hadn't realized her voice could reach that high, get that *harsh* -- 

He smacks her *harder* -- 

She *coughs* a cry and bucks -- right into the next smack -- 

And the next -- 

And the *next*, over and over, and Michael is writhing beneath Gabriel, gasping every time she pulls a little too hard against where he's gripping her throat in his teeth -- 

*Shouting* every time his smacks *force* her to clench, buck, *bounce* -- 

She -- "*Gabriel*!" 

He smacks her -- *spanks* her -- even *harder* -- 

She *yells* -- 

And now the spanks come fast, come sharply, come *relentlessly*, and Michael is shivering for it, quivering low in her belly, deep in her *cunt* -- 

Aching and -- 

She *wants* -- 

Gabriel bites her throat *harder* -- 

"Gabriel, *please*!" 

And then there are two fingers slipping in and *in* her cunt, pushing deep, twisting *deep* -- 

She arches and grips at the sheets -- no. She wraps her arms around him and holds, *holds* -- 

He crooks his fingers *up* -- 

She hears herself -- oh, that was practically a *yelp* -- 

And now she's making that same sound over and over again, now her cunt is clenching and *flexing* around his fingers -- 

He's working her g-spot with more focus, more *ruthless* focus, than he ever *has*, and Michael's entire body is jittering for it -- 

She can't stop grinding *down* onto those fingers, willing them to be longer, thicker -- "More! Please more!" 

Gabriel breaks the bite -- but only for long enough to bite the *other* side of her throat -- 

She *bucks* -- 

He growls and it feels like he's using the sound to fuck her *spine*, like every part of her is capable of being fucked by the right person, the right -- 

She *needs* -- "Please, Gabriel, *please*!" 

And the third finger is pressing at her hole, teasing, *teasing* -- 

She *sobs* for it and tries to get it, tries to *take* it inside herself -- 

His other fingers aren't as *deep* anymore -- 

He's working the outer *rim* of her cunt, and -- 

"Gabriel, please do not *tease* like this!" 

The noise Gabriel makes this time is thoughtful, *considering* -- but whatever he's thinking about doesn't stop him from *thrusting* in with three fingers, from making her take them -- 

His hands are so big -- 

His fingers are so thick, so hard -- 

She can't *think* -- 

She can't do anything but ride them as best as she can, as hard as he *allows* -- 

And then he starts to *fuck* her hard, steadily and *hard*, and she can meet the first several thrusts handily -- 

But then he *spreads* his fingers inside her as he thrusts -- 

He *keeps* them that way -- 

Michael drums her heels against the bed and *howls* -- 

Gabriel bites her throat *harder* -- 

She clenches so hard, so tight, so -- "I -- I -- please, Gabriel, I *need* --" 

He pulls back from the bite and licks her *mouth* -- 

"Unh --" 

"You're gonna come for me, Michael..." 

"Yes! I will --" 

"You're gonna come on my *fingers*, just like a little misbehaving schoolgirl..." 

"*Fuck* --"

Gabriel laughs hungrily, *filthily* -- and starts to screw his fingers in and in -- 

All of his fingers -- 

So *thick* -- "Should we play *that* game, Michael? I could be your teacher for all *sorts* of subjects..." 

Michael bucks and bucks -- 

*Grips* at Gabriel's shoulders -- 

*Claws* at them -- 

"Oh -- good girl. I'll teach you *everything* I know. Everything --" He pants -- "And you won't run. You won't ever *run*," he says, and fucks her faster -- 

*Faster*, and she can't catch the rhythm, can't move for it, can't do anything but take it and *shake* -- 

"We -- we both know you'll never *run*," Gabriel says, and *pins* her with a hand around her throat -- 

Squeezes and *flexes* that hand in the same rhythm as the one he's using in her cunt, *for* her cunt -- 

"You'll be -- all mine --" And Gabriel chokes her again -- 

Michael's mouth *falls* open as her body tries to spread her legs *wider* -- 

"My *girl*," Gabriel says, and rests his thumb there, just there, just right next to her clit, and every thrust is the best kind of *jarring*, every *flex* of the hand on her throat is a sip of air which tastes only of *them*, every *moment* of Gabriel's *burning* gaze on her -- 

A brand, or -- 

A symbol -- 

It's being marked with something meaningful, something which cannot be encompassed by science or -- or *logic* -- 

There is something entirely *religious* about it, and Michael will not *let* herself worry about that until she finds herself praying. 

Until that point, she will bask in the feeling, wallow in it like one of Gabriel's *pigs*, take it and drag it all over her skin, all over her *soul* -- 

"Michael... the look in your *eyes* --" And Gabriel almost snarls as he presses *carefully* on her clit with his thumb even as he fucks her more wildly, more *harshly* -- 

She screams -- Gabriel chokes it off utterly and doesn't stop, doesn't *stop* -- 

Michael's body is -- 

She's all but *thrashing* for it, clawing at Gabriel's shoulders again -- 

Again and -- she can smell his *blood* -- 

She wants to *taste* it -- 

She wants to -- to somehow *bathe* in it, and every single one of his *other* fluids -- 

She wants -- 

"Here," he says -- *growls*, and shoves *deep* with his three fingers -- 

*Holds* them there, just there -- 

And works her clit with fast and expert *skill*, fast and -- so -- 

Right there -- 

Right there, and it feels like her whole body is vibrating at the same frequency, or perhaps at two different ones which are close enough together to create harmony, harmonics, a symphony of -- 

Of *sensation* -- 

"Oh. Michael..." 

Yes -- *yes* -- 

He chokes her *hard* again -- 

And Michael arches up violently and starts to come, starts to -- 

And it's thundering through her, riding her like his fingers, destroying her like -- 

Like his *force*, and she can't scream, can't gasp, can't -- 

He releases her -- 

She gasps -- 

She *coughs* out his name -- 

And Gabriel growls and starts fucking her *through* it, keeping her *stuck* in the orgasm as it goes on and on and -- 

She *sobs* again -- 

Tosses her *head* -- 

"Just a little more for me, Michael..." And he crooks *up* again -- 

Michael clenches *hard*, all but *barking* out a scream and -- collapsing onto her back. 

Panting. 

*Moaning* -- 

It feels as though every muscle in her *body* is trembling -- 

It feels as though every new bruise is *singing* to her -- 

It -- 

She can't -- 

Gabriel pulls out of her, slowly and *gently* -- 

"Gabriel -- I --" 

"Shh, Michael. Just relax for a minute." 

"I am glad for that -- request," she says, and *pants* -- 

"Mm. Are you." And he licks her *throat*, pressing the tip of his tongue against one of the bite marks -- 

Michael moans. "I am, in this moment, unqualified to perform any other tasks." 

Gabriel laughs quietly. "I'd marry you for what you do for my ego *alone*, Michael." 

Michael *coughs* -- "*Gabriel* --" 

"Shh, shh. You're relaxing. Maybe even basking a little," he says, and licks his way to her mouth -- 

Kisses her softly. 

"Was it like your fantasies?"

Michael hums and -- hums more.


	6. It's always better to choose your own exploitation.

"Yes...?" 

"No," she says and turns on her side -- 

Gabriel does the same so that they can face each other comfortably. "What's different? What do you *want* to change, mm?" 

Michael shifts -- 

Wriggles just to *do* it -- 

Hears herself make a distinctly *purr*-like noise -- 

And Gabriel is grinning *broadly*. *Beaming*, truly -- 

"I... mm. You do not use your *hands* to make me come very often in my fantasies." 

"No...? Then we should skip right to me fucking you until you're too stupid to remember why being involved with me is, at best, *questionable*?"

Michael snorts and punches him -- 

"*That* hit a bruise, Michael. Did you want to play a little more...?" And Gabriel's voice is low, teasing, *insinuating* -- which. 

"Gabriel. *Can* you spar while you're *that* erect?"

"Let's keep in mind just who I've spent most of my sparring time *with* over the past fourteen years," he says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Michael *blinks* -- 

"You hadn't thought of that...?" 

"It is more..." She smiles ruefully. "I had failed to do *all* of the *math*. The two of you were together for... so long," she says, and licks her lips -- 

*Studies* Gabriel --

And Gabriel shivers and -- takes a breath. "I would wish... that we'd had *more* time together, Michael." 

"Of course --" 

"No, I..." And Gabriel's smile is... pained. Deeply so. 

Michael rests her palms on Gabriel's chest and strokes up to his face -- 

Cups his face -- 

"Michael, I..." 

"Please tell me, Gabriel. Please share this. For me." 

"You... want to know more about me and the Michael from the other universe?" And he's searching her, *looking* for her --

Michael leans in to kiss Gabriel's mouth softly -- 

Gabriel shudders *violently* -- 

"I would like to know everything about you. About -- the man I am in love with." 

Gabriel groans and rolls them until he's on his back with Michael sprawled atop him -- 

She holds him with her arms and *legs* -- 

And he wraps his arms around her, tugging her head down until she must tuck her face against his sweat-slick throat. 

She kisses him there -- 

"*Michael* --" 

"I am here," she says, and -- "Please tell me." 

"Yes. I will. I -- I had... fantasies. *Countless* fantasies... of the Empire's research into chronospatial travel actually panning *out*. Fantasies of *stealing* the tech for myself, and destroying all trace of the notes. 

"Murdering all the scientists, the technicians, the *computer* technicians -- and their families." 

Michael *grunts* -- and understands. The knowledge is growing within her, blooming as hot and *strangling*, as massive, as Vulcan's nearly-universally-murderous equatorial flora. It -- 

The people had left for the deserts for a *reason* -- and. 

And. 

She will not chase herself away from knowledge. 

She will not *run*. "You wished... to be the one who had adopted her." 

"I would've... her parents didn't have to die the way they did. They could've been banished to an outworld, their work scattered, their *friends* hobbled with *surveillance* --" 

"Gabriel..." 

"Do you want -- I can stop," he says, shuddering and desperate and relieved all at once. 

"I do not wish for you to stop," she says, pushing up enough that she can lick the corners of his mouth. "I do not ever want the loss of your *honesty*." 

"Fuck -- it's yours. It's *yours*." 

"Then give this to me." 

He holds her *tighter* -- 

She takes a *sip* of a breath -- 

"I wanted -- and she would be my daughter. My girl. My -- my *Princess*, and no one else's. She would've *kept* her laughter -- whatever it was her parents had taught her. I would've -- they would've given her up, I think. They would've had no *choice*, but I would've couched it, to them, as a way to keep her from being hurt. Being *traumatized*, and --" 

"She... you would've given her a chance to say... goodbye," Michael says, and swallows -- 

"It -- it helps so *much* with grief, especially for small children. You have to give them -- give them clear boundaries, *defined* blocks of time -- " 

"And love, Gabriel." 

Gabriel *shudders*. "I. I would have... I studied so much. So *much*. I got information from the rebels about how *they* raised their children. How much they touched them, how they taught and *trained* them so that they would still be -- be good *soldiers*.

"Even though they could also smile with -- with everything right in it. Even though they could also *laugh*." 

"Oh -- Gabriel..." 

"Please, I..." 

She strokes up to his face again -- his eyes are wet, even though they are squeezed *shut*. 

He's shuddering like he's *ill* beneath her -- 

"Gabriel, please tell me what you need." 

"You. I need you --" 

"I am *here* --" But she has to stop when he opens his eyes. 

They look raw, red-rimmed and *hurt*. 

He is *softening* beneath her -- and it takes everything *in* her not to do something about *that*, but -- 

It's not time for that.

"Gabriel, tell me what you need from *me*." 

He laughs ruefully, *painfully* -- 

Shakes his head. 

"I... it's always the same thing, Michael. It will always *be* the same thing," he says, and looks into her -- 

*Offers* himself -- his *self* -- to her so freely, so openly -- and obviously with deep-seated belief that he will not be -- accepted. 

Michael licks her lips -- no. 

*No*. She will not hesitate. "I do not believe there is anything which would -- *could* -- keep me from being in love with you, Gabriel." 

He *grips* her -- "I -- are you -- but you're not trying to make me feel better -- or. Not *just* that. There's more, right? Something -- something to let me know you're still thinking of *me*. The man I *am*."

Michael smiles wryly. "I am in love with *you*, Gabriel. Despite, and -- when I *worry* myself -- *because* of who you are. *All* of who you are." 

He gives her a *confused* look -- 

She thinks of Tilly's advice, of Ash's *hurt* -- no. 

No. 

She is here now, and that is so for *many* reasons -- reasons that reach down to the *heart* of who she is -- even if some of them are... problematic. 

She strokes his face again. "Gabriel. You will never do the things you did *habitually* in the other universe. Not here. There is no authority you can go to in order to begin the process of making *amends* for what you did in the other universe -- not one which is not hopelessly corrupt in its turn. You..." She shakes her head. "You are like no one I have ever known. You *teach* me things I have never known -- nearly every moment we are *together*. You give me..." 

She shivers -- 

"You give me yourself *with* every moment, and teach me to do the same. You teach me *intimacy* -- to the point where I almost feel *comfortable* giving it to *other* people I care for --" 

"I --" 

"Wait for me, please, Gabriel," she says, and -- does her best to make promises with her eyes. With her *self*. 

Gabriel groans once more -- 

Squeezes her *painfully* hard -- 

She *coughs* -- 

"Fuck -- I --" He eases his *grip* -- 

"Not that *gently*, please, Gabriel --" 

"I love you. I *love* you. I -- here," he says, and holds her -- perfectly. 

Warmly and *wonderfully* -- She smiles down at him. "I have had the thought..." She sighs, and strokes his mouth. "You will always be the man you are. I have heard -- from many sources -- that no one truly changes *fundamentally* once they have reached adulthood --" 

"It's -- *mostly* true -- I could give you information about --" 

"Wait," she says, and puts *force* behind it. 

His cock *twitches* beneath her. 

She raises an eyebrow -- 

And he -- grins. "We *could* talk about that, if you'd like..." 

Michael laughs a little helplessly. "*Later*. I -- I wanted to say that I *used* to believe that the people who said such things were making *excuses* for themselves -- or their loved ones. That they weren't *trying* hard enough --" 

"And then you met me?" 

"And *then*... I met myself. With your help." 

Gabriel shivers -- winces. "Don't -- don't ever *limit* yourself, Michael --" 

"I will not. *Ever*. But I will also never deny the truth of who *either* of us are *now* -- much less the truths of what *made* us who we are. We are... the products of our upbringings, I think. All of us. And there are many things about our *specific* upbringings -- about who we *are* -- which make what we have together... correct." 

"Yes, but --" He shakes his head. "Tell me. Tell me what it is about *that* fantasy which *eases* you. Which -- you're so much more *relaxed*, Michael." 

She smiles ruefully again, and pets his mouth. "I do not know who I would've been if my birth-parents had been able to continue the process of raising me. I know... my birth-father always treated me as though I *could* become anything I *wished*, but that I probably *should* become someone who always used every possible strength -- mental, emotional, and physical -- to solve problems for others." 

"More, I -- please more," he says, and looks *starved* once more. 

"Yes, Gabriel. My birth-mother was most often in the lab -- my birth-father had a far more *defined* schedule than she did -- but she always came home with lessons for me, and new knowledge. New *information* designed to raise questions within me. It was obvious that she wanted me to become another scientist..." 

"You're -- you *are* the person they would've wanted you to be," Gabriel says, and it sounds like he's fitting more pieces to a puzzle, filling blanks in a dossier so vast and *unwieldy* that it requires its own personal *PADD*. 

"To a certain extent, and -- *perhaps*," Michael says. "You know that I was seven when they were murdered. I was still... malleable. In *many* ways." 

"And Sarek and Amanda molded you with a *will*." 

She inclines her head. "I have thought *many* times -- often while I was struggling not to *weep* loud enough to be caught and shamed by one 'peer' or another for my loss of self-control --" 

"I... am feeling resentful toward the entire population of Vulcan. Again." 

She knows *exactly* what he means by 'resentful'. "Gabriel. I have, in fact, humiliated every last one of those people over the years. *Badly*. In one way or *several*. I do not require you to protect -- or *avenge* -- me," she says and raises an eyebrow. 

Gabriel grins, showing *many* teeth. "Anything you say, darlin'. I will *absolutely* follow *every* rule you give me..." 

She nods -- stops and *thinks*. "You will follow the rules that I *don't* personally give you, as well." 

"If you're *certain* about that..." 

"Gabriel. Didn't you want to hear why I'm *agreeing* to this relationship with all of myself?" 

"Oh, yes. *All the time*. In your wonderful *voice*." 

"Then --" 

"But I can't help feeling downright *merry* in this moment, because... well. Say it, Michael. Tell me what I *need* to hear." 

Michael blushes. "You -- already know." 

"I won't always be this 'intuitive' about you, your needs... you'll grow and change beyond even your most *current* psych evaluations -- including the ones I perform on you *habitually*. You already *have*, and it's barely been *weeks*. But I will spend every moment of my *life* seeking to know you, Michael. All of you. And... 

"You've given me any number of clues about *this*." 

"Then I need not --" 

"Say it anyway," he says, and licks his lips. "Let me hear it. Let me... let me *feel* it," he says, and strokes down her back with one hand until he can cup and squeeze her ass. 

She clenches and everywhere he's *touched* her feels hot, needy, swollen, *sensitized* -- "Gabriel..." 

"*Or*, again --" 

"I've *wanted* to have different adoptive parents," she says -- blurts. "I've wanted -- from the *beginning*. Ones who didn't make me feel like I was failing in *multiple* directions at all *times*. I -- and of course they didn't mean it. Of course they were only -- only *loving* me the way *they* knew how, but --" 

"You didn't *fit*." 

"No, I --" 

"You didn't *match* --" 

"Not -- not *ever*, and I tried, over and over -- *constantly* --" 

"Oh, Michael. You were trying to *bludgeon* a square peg into... well," he says, and grips her hips. "You can never really fill that hole even if you *do* shave off all the peg's *corners* and get it *in* there. It's simple math --" 

"There. There will always be... spaces. At the straight edges of the peg. Spaces --" 

"*Spaces*, Michael... where everything cold, everything wrong, everything *hurtful* -- no matter how well-intentioned -- can burrow right in and *attack* you. Right?" 

She winces and kneels up all the way -- "I'm not -- running from you." 

"I know you won't," he says, and strokes her hips with his thumbs -- 

"I -- do you?" 

"Well..." 

"Gabriel --" 

"I know *you* won't, Michael. Neither of us can say who *precisely* you'll be down the road." 

"*You* can --" 

"You have that much faith in me...? Or are you *asking* me -- ordering me -- to make *certain* that you won't ever become the sort of person who would run from me?" 

And -- all thoughts of Sarek and Amanda leave her mind. 

Leave her -- 

She is *staring* -- no. "I would like to know how you would go about *doing* that, Gabriel." 

He breathes in... and his smile, when it comes, is gentle. 

Sweet. 

He strokes up to her waist and squeezes *there* --

"Gabriel --" 

"I wouldn't change a damned thing about what I'm doing now, Michael. Not really. Nothing truly *substantive*." 

She blinks. "Then -- you *know* that I won't --" 

"I still don't. I promise. What I *do* know? Is that there may very well come a day when your life -- and all the other people *in* it -- have shaped and molded and *hardened* you into the sort of person who could never enjoy being a Starfleet apostate, who would *need* people -- or just one person -- who believes in, at least, the *majority* of things you do. Who would need more from a lover than the *promise* -- however heartfelt -- of good behavior."

Michael wants to -- no, she will *say* this: "I want to argue with that *strenuously*, Gabriel. *Vehemently*." 

He laughs quietly. "Consider your cogent, concise, and positively *beautiful* arguments noted. But --" 

"*No* --" 

"*But*...? You are, still, the woman who is just a little bit wounded by the fact that you can't bring me home to your *parents*." 

"I -- I *would* --" 

"And lie about who I truly am? To Amanda, perhaps? Or to Sarek, who has literally *bound your soul to his own*. They'd see you coming a *mile* off, Michael -- and dig *deep* to find whatever you were hiding. We both know that. Don't we?" 

She winces -- and nods. 

"So," Gabriel says, and strokes down to her thighs -- 

Caresses them -- 

Sighs -- "You could get sick of all the secrets and start desiring a lover who may not be entirely honest about everything *himself* -- when you get to him anyway -- but who is still someone honest *enough* -- clean enough -- to bring home. To. 

"To marry, and --" Gabriel shudders and *squeezes* her thighs *hard* -- 

"Gabriel..." 

"I would like to, you know." 

"Oh." 

"I would..." He licks his lips and *looks* at her. "Is it *truly* a surprise, Michael?" 

"No, but -- my prior thoughts about marriage to you were *entirely* about your *possessiveness*." 

"That is *entirely* valid, but --" 

"You love me. You -- you want to keep me, and... cherish..." 

"It's still possessive, Michael -- all pair-bonding *is*, in its way -- but. I want to give you... so much warmth." 

She shivers. "You wanted to give the child your Princess would've been warmth..." 

"All of you. *Every* iteration, at all times. I would --" He growls. "I would... teach her things. The Princess I actually got to *have*, I mean --" 

"You taught her laughter..." 

"That, but also... I worked to teach her intimacy. The importance of it. Why it was always *different* with people you could one hundred percent trust at all times. I. I don't think I meant to seduce her..." 

That -- Michael blinks. "Gabriel, did you want to adopt your Princess to see if you could make her *stop* desiring you? To make her *never* truly desire you?" 

Gabriel's smile is pained -- and pleading. 

"Do not lie to me, Gabriel," she says, and keeps her eyes on his face, his eyes -- 

"Never. Never to you. But..." 

"*No*." 

He swallows and nods. "The *sexual* fantasies within the larger fantasy of being the one to adopt her... they didn't come right away." 

"No?" 

He shakes his head, and obviously looks into his memories. "She was small. A *child*, in every way. And I... I would shape and carve and twist and *adjust* the fantasy to account for a child's quirks. The quirks of a child only barely older than a *toddler*. 

"I... there were parts of that fantasy I'd perfected more than others. Parts that *fed* me when I wanted to hold my Princess and she was incapable of sitting still for it. Incapable of *taking* it." 

"Oh... you dreamed of... cuddling her." 

"Petting her. Pulling her onto my lap to tell her exciting stories -- I had picked several to share; several for each *infinitesimally* different fantasy. Fixing her *hair*. Teaching her how to -- to brush a *dog*, and how to milk a goat. I..." He winces. "The fantasies were so -- I could *see* her. 

"I could see *us*, and how it would *be*. How some of my stories would make her cry, though I wouldn't be able to predict that right away, so I'd blunder around anyway. How I could and would make her *feel* better with her favorite foods, her favorite *toys*," he says, and there is --

A *different* plea in his eyes. It... hm. "What are you asking for in *this* moment, Gabriel?" 

"*You*. Always --" 

"Did you wish for me to move --" 

"N-no -- don't change anything about your position, how you're touching me, how -- please put your hands back on my *chest* --" 

She does just that -- and *thinks*. "You wish to know if I still accept you, despite the things you are saying."

"Nnh -- Michael --" 

"I do, Gabriel. You... the part of me which cannot imagine you being a *good* father to a small child from the Empire is not especially far from the *many* parts of me which cannot imagine *myself* being good enough for... much of anything involving *any* sorts of people, no matter their age." 

He winces -- 

Growls and sits up, gathering her close and holding her, kissing her cheek -- 

The corner of her eye -- 

Her *ear*, over and -- 

"I'll teach you better, Michael... I'll teach you to be just as big and strong and *confident* in yourself as you *always* should've been. I'll teach you how to -- mm." He kisses her ear *softly*. "I'll teach you everything you need to make this whole *multiverse* yours. I promise," he says, and his voice is rough in her ear, ragged with a need she does not *recognize* -- but. 

She understands. 

She *believes* she understands -- 

"Gabriel," she says, and pulls back slowly -- and not very far -- 

He pants and studies her with *desperation* in his gaze -- "Tell me. Tell me what you need." 

She smiles ruefully. "I do not believe that I am ready to be your -- daughter." 

Gabriel grunts -- "I didn't mean -- fuck. *Fuck*, I apologize. I *don't* mean to --" 

"It's been a dream of yours for a very *long* time --" 

"*Yes*, but --" 

"I have spent the past several minutes discussing the *inadequacy* of my assorted parents with regard to *me* --" 

"You need --"

He shudders and moans -- 

"You need -- more. You *deserve* more --" 

"Yes," she says, and smiles ruefully. "Or... I *did* deserve more --" 

"Don't --" 

"*Once*, before I was responsible for the death of my Philippa, who --" 

"You weren't -- but. She was -- your new parent. Your *better* parent," he says, wincing and nodding -- 

"Yes, Gabriel --" 

"You can't -- I'll give you *anything*, Michael --" 

"I am not ready... for *this* thing, Gabriel," she says, and reaches up to stroke his ears with the sides of her thumbs -- 

To pet his eyebrows -- 

His cheekbones -- 

Gabriel is *staring* at her *hungrily* -- 

"Gabriel --" 

He coughs a laugh and smiles ruefully. "I... would very much like permission. For this." 

"Gabriel, *no* --" 

"Permission to *dream* of us -- *us* -- that way. Permission to... slip, a little, in words and/or deeds, every now and again. When everything in me is *screaming* that you could and should be *saved* from your *family*." 

"Oh." 

"I promise... I promise I'll pull myself *back*. You won't have to stop me yourself --" 

"Are you certain of that?" She can't keep herself from stroking his chest. 

He winces again -- and *laughs* again. "It'll be hard. It'll *hurt* --" 

"Oh, no --" 

"I'd peel my own skin off for you, Michael. *Slowly*." 

She -- looks at him. Just *looks*. 

He laughs *hard* -- "Should I have phrased that a different way, perhaps?" 

"You should have *avoided* forcing me to put 'deny Gabriel's urge to *parent* me' in the same *compartment* as 'flay Gabriel *alive*'," she says, and looks *harder*. 

"I... all right, that was *accidental* manipulation -- I was mostly focused on sharing with you. Being honest," he says, and his smile is ruefully pained again. "I promise." 

Michael nods thoughtfully. "Would it be *less* painful for you if I *did* take the responsibility of *stopping* you when you... slipped?"

"I have no *idea*." 

"No?" 

"My Princess... I slipped all the time around her. I never said the words *directly* -- not to the girl and *woman* who was, alternately, confused, contemptuous, and *disgusted* by... ah... *gentle* parenting --" 

"Oh... dear. I -- no, go on, please." 

Gabriel takes a breath and nods. "I parented her just the same. I started doing it *before* I started having the fantasies, telling myself that I was just educating her a little better about the sorts of things she'd find among our enemies, or that I was exploring new kinks with my *lover*, or that I was continuing my *program* of separating her from Philippa.

"That last made it all... come clear. Eventually," he says, and his smile turns wry. "When I couldn't *deny* it anymore." 

"You were... already her lover when you began parenting her?" 

"Yes." 

"And yet the desire for sexuality within that paradigm didn't come until... later?" 

"We'd been lovers for nearly two years. I'd been *parenting* her when I couldn't stop myself from doing it for fuck only knows how much of that time -- I can't come close to pinning it down. But that morning, with her on my lap as we went over the list of prisoners I'd be interrogating for Philippa that day, with me coaxing her *teasingly* to go over the lessons I'd given her about how to *approach* this prisoner, or that one..." 

His eyes are distant enough that it is *clear* that he has returned to his memories, and Michael can only let him. She needs to *know* this --

"Her voice...

"All the nuances of it, the way it was just a little gruff from the hit she'd taken in the spar we'd had the night before -- she'd refused to have her throat healed immediately. I -- I was *stuck*. *Pinioned* on it, and it flowed through me, like... like something liquid.

"Dark. *Sweet*. I couldn't focus on the things she was saying. I couldn't -- 

"All I could do was pet her, and murmur little -- little encouragements. And dream, helplessly, of fucking my girl. My *little* girl," he says, and shudders over and over -- "I didn't even realize, at first, what was different about that desire. What made it seem *wrong* -- because it *did* seem wrong. 

"I felt *guilty*. I felt dirty and *small*, and I left her that morning as soon as I could. I didn't *know*, Michael," he says, and his gaze is only for her again. "I didn't know anything. Until I was jerking off *frantically* once I was alone. Until image after *image* filled my mind of *having* her until she was tired enough for me to... tuck her in.

"Kiss her forehead.

"Watch over her *sleep*." He shakes his head. "I tried to push it back after that, to -- to push it *away*. But I still *ached* to give her *clean* parenting, and she still responded to it so -- 

"She *enjoyed* it. From *me* -- even as she looked at the rebel families with *distaste*. She lit *up* for it sometimes, despite everything which had happened to her. And. 

"I'd only ever had *one* response to that," he says, and rests his forehead against her own. "I surrendered." 

Michael *breathes* -- 

*Ignores* the fact that she is more *wet* than she had been, more -- more *freshly* wet -- no. 

She must *ask*. "And. The feelings are the same for you, with me? The *fantasies*." 

"Yes. No. I -- you're older when I take you. More settled in your skin. I read to you from different books. I jump straight into training you to fight. I cook you different *meals*. I tell you different *stories*. I --" 

"You have spent a great deal of time considering this already..." 

He laughs, hard and brief. "I don't sleep very well when you're not here, Michael." 

"I --" She frowns. "Were you *born* this manipulative?" 

"Nana Ana -- I did, in fact, call her Nana Banana for a *lengthy* portion of my childhood --" 

Michael *snorts* -- 

"-- and *beyond*, really, but -- she used to say that, when I was still at the age when high chairs and cribs were a matter of life and death, I wouldn't cry, at all, unless I *knew* someone other than Nana Emilia was around, at which point... well, the word 'caterwaul' was used." 

"I... you did *say* your Nana Emilia wasn't especially... affectionate," Michael says, and frowns. 

"Exactly. When I wanted what *she* could give? Like food or milk or time with the giant cuddly *dogs*? I apparently made a sound like I was *about* to poop all *over* my diapers --" 

"Oh -- fuck --" 

"And, because Nana Emilia hated changing babies, she would appear at *top* speed to put me on the potty and *glare* until I went -- this occasionally took quite some time; she would catch up on her reading -- at which point she'd put me back to bed and then give me what I *actually* wanted. Which was usually the dogs at that point -- I needed comfort after those glares, apparently." 

Michael stares. 

"So, in answer to your question... maybe? People have been asking the nature versus nurture question for *many* centuries, Michael. Our experiments have raised even *more* questions by resulting in evidence which speaks for both sides -- but I don't think this is a puzzle which will be solved in *our* lifetimes." 

Michael *frowns* and stares. 

"I... Nana Emilia really did teach me -- all sorts of things --" 

"Including to associate terror, cold, and *brutality* with *proper parenting*!"

Gabriel wags his head -- 

"*Gabriel* --" 

"You're not wrong. Mm? It's just that she -- by being such a *stark* contrast to Nana Ana and Nana Fatima -- *also* taught me that Nana *Emilia's* version of 'proper parenting' was not always considered the *correct* version, even by other cheerful, loyal, and *productive* citizens of the Empire. It might have taken me... much, much longer to learn a lesson like that, Michael," he says, and raises his eyebrows. 

"Oh -- you would not have been... ready. For your Princess." 

"I always had to be. I always..." Gabriel inhales and shivers. "Let me -- let me have permission to dream of you *this* way. I won't push it on you. I won't *force* it. I won't try to *turn* you to *this* --" 

"Don't -- don't make that promise." 

"I *can* keep myself from that. I don't always *have* to be --" 

She covers his mouth with her fingers. "Dream of me, Gabriel." 

He *grunts* -- 

"*Always* dream of me, in every way that *moves* you. And then..." She licks her lips and shivers. "And then let me *see* it -- even if I am not *always* ready to *feel* it." 

He moans and kisses her fingers -- 

Kisses them again and again -- 

Tugs her hand out of the way -- "And you'll stop me? If it's too much?" 

She wants -- "I -- yes." 

He takes another shuddering breath. "Tell me what that was. That *hesitation*." 

Of course she *must*. "I. I believe that I will always wish to... *test* my boundaries with you. To *stretch* them, even when I cannot stand to *break* them." 

Gabriel's eyes are -- hot.

*Focused* -- 

"Right now...? Mm?" 

"Oh -- Gabriel. I am... not certain." 

"Something small. Simple and -- easy. Just for us." 

Michael strokes Gabriel's shoulders -- 

His cheeks -- 

"'Small'?" 

"I'll show you... if you'd like," he says, and raises his eyebrows. 

Her heart is beating too fast again -- 

Gabriel isn't *blinking* enough -- 

And he's standing and tugging her *off* the bed before she realizes that she's nodding -- 

Panting and -- 

"Gabriel, what --" 

"Shh. Do you want to call me that?" 

"What -- oh. I... oh," she says, and swallows *hard* when Gabriel sits down on the couch -- 

Sits *straight* and *pats his thigh* -- 

And this... "There are... options for this," she says, because she will not let herself hold *back*. 

He smiles up at her so *wonderingly*. "There always are, Michael. Why don't you *tell* me about the options you're considering..." 

"Yes -- sir. I... I am considering... that." 

His nostrils flare -- 

He *strokes* his thigh -- 

"Should your Captain... take care of you?" 

Her thighs are so *slick* -- but. But. "Not... necessarily. Not necessarily the *Captain*. Sir," she says, and she is blushing hot, blushing hard.

He frowns *slightly* -- but then blinks and grins *wide*. "Oh, Michael... you've always been a little more... formal than *most* girls your age. Haven't you." 

Girls -- 

Age -- 

"Yes, sir," she says, and *struggles* not to rub her thighs together just to *feel* how slick -- 

"You've always been a little more *inclined* toward treating your *important* relationships -- and all relationships with your *elders* -- with... care." 

She is -- she is *sweating* -- "Sir. I -- yes, sir --"

She is *ready* for him -- but. 

"Sir... I have a question," she says, and raises an eyebrow. 

He licks his lips. And pats his thigh again. "Take a seat *first*, Michael. We have... so *many* things to speak about." 

And he is hard -- *fully* hard -- again -- 

Dripping and *slick* -- 

The *blush* on the head of his cock where it has slipped entirely free from his foreskin is almost lurid, demanding of attention -- 

Her *mouth* -- 

"Michael..." 

She breathes and *blinks* -- "I apologize, sir," she says, and moves to straddle him -- 

"No, Michael," he says, and stops her with one big, rough hand on her abdomen. "That's not at *all* how a good little girl like *you* sits." 

*Fuck* -- "Then..." She turns around, and sits with her back to him -- 

With her back pressed to his hard, *hard* cock -- 

With his hot breath on her *ear* -- "Is this... correct? Sir." 

He shivers and -- hugs her. Hugs her tightly and *rocks* her, back and forth and back again -- 

"Sir --" 

"My girl. My beautiful --" He inhales sharply and stops rocking them -- but doesn't let go. "You don't know how much I've *missed* my little girl..." 

"Oh -- but --" 

"You... stayed away," he says. "For much too long. Didn't you?" 

She blushes again -- "Yes, sir. I apologize, sir --" 

"I should punish you for that..." 

She *pants* -- 

"... but you know I can't ever bear to hurt my little girl. My -- my little *Queen*." 

"*Oh* -- *sir* --" 

"Shh. You had a question for me. Didn't you?" 

How *old* am I -- no. 

No. That doesn't matter, she thinks. Not for a man who can do *this* with the woman he fully intended to rule an interstellar *Empire* with. 

This... but. There *is* more she needs to know: "Am I... your only little girl, sir?" 

He groans -- 

Shudders -- 

Clutches her more *tightly* -- "The only one. The only *one*, Michael. Though I won't say I haven't dreamed of having... two." 

She blinks -- 

"Sometimes old men are more greedy than *sensible*, Michael," he says, kissing her ear and laughing softly. "Sometimes old men don't... don't know anything *about* what's good for them..." 

"Sir, you are not *old* --"

"Shh. What else do you need to know, mm? What can I *teach* you," he says, and rests one hand on her thigh -- 

His fingers push *between* -- 

Just a little --

And Michael moans. "I want. I want to understand... this. I do not have substantive, specific questions at this time." 

"No...?" 

"No, sir. I wish -- no." She shakes her head. 

Gabriel sighs. "Don't do that, Michael. Don't ever deny your... old man," he says, and kisses her ear again. "Give me everything. All of your *desires*." 

She flushes -- 

Squirms before she can stop herself -- 

Gabriel gasps and *grips* her thigh -- "Easy, Michael. Be still for me now." 

"Is it -- does it. Is it more *arousing* to have me this way -- to *parent* me -- than it is for us to make love in other ways." 

"Yes. But only more arousing than *some* other ways, Michael. There is no way I don't want my beautiful little girl... mm. Tell me what you want, now. Go on." 

"Please -- I. I do not know how to say it --" 

"Just go on and try. We'll work out the best words together," he says, and nuzzles her ear -- 

She flushes more *deeply* -- 

She can't stop herself from trying to push back even further, from *pressing* herself against Gabriel -- 

She -- but she can *speak*. "Yes, sir. I. I wish to be *touched*, but... not in *entirely* the same ways as usual --"

"Something... different," Gabriel says, and makes a small sound. "Something new. Just for this?" 

"Please. *Please* -- or. Perhaps I will desire it other -- other times --" 

"We'll just have to see, won't we? My little girl can always have *precisely* what she desires," he says, and strokes both big hands up to her breasts -- 

Cups and *holds* them -- 

"Oh, little honey, these are just so sweet..." 

Her heart is *pounding* -- "Are. Are they, sir?" 

"Mm, yeah. But I know you don't play with them much, yourself..." 

"You. You were watching me, sir?" 

"Every chance I get, Michael," he says, and licks her ear -- 

"Oh --" 

"Were you maybe waiting for someone to touch these *for* you, little girl?" 

"I -- I --" 

"Someone to..." He sighs and works his rough palms against her nipples, her areolae -- 

She moans and *squirms* again -- 

"Be still now..." 

"I -- please --" 

"Shh. You know I'll take care of you. Don't you?" 

She feels as though she must be utterly *red*, utterly -- but. "You. You always... take care of me..." 

He growls quietly -- 

Squeezes her breasts so *gently* -- 

And then goes back to rubbing them with his calluses, making them sensitive, making her want to *arch* and -- 

"Please..." 

"Mm? Tell me..." 

"You are making me... wish to move." For you -- "For you," she says, and tingles *everywhere* for the feel of that blush, for the *truth* in her *words* -- 

"Oh, little girl... I'll show you how," he says, and shifts his *grip* on her breasts -- 

*Hefts* them so that they seem much larger than they *are* -- 

"You don't know how much I dream of these..." 

"Do -- do you? Sir?" 

"Everything about you. *Everything*... though *especially* everything you *like*," he says, and now he's pinching her nipples -- 

Pinching *lightly* -- 

She *pants* -- 

*Struggles* not to arch -- she has never *enjoyed* this touch so much! "Sir -- I --" 

"A lesson for you: Your body is made to be *touched*, Michael..." 

"I --" 

"Your body is made to be..." He sighs and pinches *rhythmically*, gentle and *fast* -- 

"Ah -- *ah* --" 

"We all have to learn *many* lessons about how to do it *right*, though --" He starts to *tug* lightly -- 

She *grunts* -- 

Arches because she *must* -- 

She -- "*Please*!" 

"And sometimes we don't learn how... until someone *else* teaches us," he says, and keeps going -- 

Keeps *going* -- 

"I bet my little girl was treating these beauties *harshly*, mm?" 

"I -- *sir* --" 

"I bet you were trying all *sorts* of *mean* things to get them to act right for you." 

"Yes -- I -- it always -- every other *part* of me --" 

"Likes to *hurt*. Your old man knows that *very* well. But. Every part of you -- every square *centimeter* of your beautiful *body* -- is different from every other. Sometimes the differences are *quite* small," he says, and stops pinching her nipples to lightly *flick* them -- 

"*Hnh* --" 

"Sometimes they're not. Sometimes... oh, little honey, I should've *known* that *this* would be different..." 

From his *Princess* -- 

"I should've known -- mm. You haven't had the same scars, in the same *places* --" He growls and bites the back of her *neck* -- 

Michael *shouts* -- 

Writhes *helplessly* -- 

He's still working her *breasts* -- 

He bites *harder* -- 

"*Please*, sir!" 

Gabriel growls *into* her -- 

She shudders and *aches* -- 

But he pulls back with a kiss -- 

With kisses everywhere on her throat and jaw that he can *reach* -- 

"My Michael... do you know how beautiful you are...?"

"I -- I am -- fit. *Attractive* --" 

"Beautiful. Perfect. *Strong*," he says, and spreads her legs *wide* with his own -- 

"Oh -- *sir* -- I --" 

"Anyone would want you," he says, and flicks her nipples with his short *thumbnails* -- 

She *sobs* -- 

His cock *jerks* against her ass, the base of her spine -- 

He *pants* -- 

"Anyone would want to *keep* you..." 

"Sir -- sir, I need -- I need *more* --" 

"Do you need your old man to touch you where you're wet, little girl? Where you're slick and hot and aching for it?" 

Michael makes a *desperate* noise -- 

She spreads her legs *wider* -- 

She drives herself *back* against Gabriel's cock -- 

He *grunts* -- "You know you're supposed to. Supposed to answer your old man with your beautiful *voice* --" 

"Please *touch* me, sir! Or -- or --" 

"Or...?" 

"Please fuck me, *fuck* me --" 

"Oh, good *girl*. Always tell your old man what you want," he says, and moves *one* hand down between her legs -- 

"I --" 

"Always tell your old man what you *crave*," he says, and pushes in with two fingers -- 

She *sobs* again -- 

Clenches and sobs and tries to ride those fingers, tries to *take* them -- 

He's keeping them so *deep* -- 

His thrusts are so *short* -- 

He's still *flicking* at her *nipple*, and she *coughs* out a cry which was meant to be his name -- 

Another when she tries to call him *sir* again -- 

"Oh, Michael... you're making your old man so *hot*," he says, and *spreads* his two fingers -- 

"Nnh --" 

"So. So *hungry* --" And he growls and *grips* her breast while he *fucks* her with the fingers of the other hand, fucks her hard, fucks her so -- 

So *filthily*, because she has been wet for what seems like an entire *day* -- 

Because she can take *more* than his two fingers, and it feels as though she is starting to *gape* around him -- 

She needs *more* -- 

"*Michael*. Michael, I... it's time. It's *time*, little girl..." 

"Please -- *please* --" 

"You're ready for me? Mm? You're going to be good and. And *sweet* for me...?" 

"*Yes*, sir," she says, and she isn't entirely sure what that *means*, but -- 

But he's lifting her just enough -- 

He's pressing the hot, mushrooming head of his cock there, just *there* -- 

"Ask for me, little girl. *Ask* for it." 

"Please, sir! Please *fuck* me!" 

"Ah -- ah, *fuck*," he says, and guides himself *in* -- 

*Immediately* moves his hands -- both hands -- to her hips -- 

But doesn't pull her down, doesn't -- 

"Sir, I -- I *need* --" 

"I'll never hurt you for *this*," he says, and tugs her down, all the way -- 

Down -- 

Down and she's clenching, sniffling -- 

Gripping at her own knees and trying to *bounce*, or grind, or *something* -- 

He is so big in her, so -- 

"Sir -- please, sir, do not make me wait for *this* --" 

He shudders behind her, beneath her -- 

He grips her hips *tightly* -- 

"Here. Just -- just *here*," he says, and lifts her off most of the way, guides her -- 

"N-no -- sir --" 

"*Here*," he says, and he's pulling her back down, just a little faster -- 

And up -- 

She's panting, groaning -- 

*Down*, and she's shivering and clenching over and over, trying to *keep* -- 

He *growls* as he lifts her again -- 

She can feel his cock *spasming* -- 

He pulls her *down* with a shout, a gasp -- 

"More! Sir, please, more!" 

"Anything. Anything for my little *girl*," he says, and tugs her off -- and *immediately* pulls her back down *as* he thrusts -- 

"*Yes*, sir -- I -- please do not *stop* --" 

"No stopping. No -- no pausing," he says, and he's working her now, working *all* of her, up and down and *up*, thrusting harder and faster -- 

*Faster* -- 

She can't seem to close her *mouth* for it -- 

He's fucking so many *sounds* out of her, so many helpless *sounds* -- 

Her *breasts* are bouncing, sensitive and *aware* the way they normally *aren't* -- 

And he is panting, grunting and panting more -- 

He *groans* and is obviously trying to keep it *quiet* -- 

"Please, sir, I must hear! I must *hear*!" 

And then he's grunting *sharply* for every thrust, every bounce -- 

He *shouts* when she clenches, when she can't help but try to take all of him, *keep* all of him -- 

And just the thought of that makes her clench harder, makes her grip at his knees and *bounce* on his cock as best she can -- 

As best as she can with him holding her hips so *tightly* -- 

"Little -- little *girl* --" 

"Sir -- sir, I *need* you --" 

"I'm *yours* --" 

"Please *harder*!" 

"I -- I can't *hurt* you --" 

"Sir, I *need* it, need to -- to *feel* --" 

"Something. Something just for you. Just for -- every part of who you are. Mine. *Mine*," Gabriel says, and lifts her off *completely* -- 

"Nuh --" 

And then *puts* her on the carpeted floor, arranging her on her *face* and knees -- 

"Oh -- *yes* --" 

"My little girl needs to -- needs to take what she's *given*," Gabriel says, and *shoves* into Michael's cunt -- 

Michael yells and *beats* at the floor -- 

Gabriel grips her bruised hips and starts to fuck her hard, *hard*, and Michael can't -- 

Can't catch a *breath* -- 

Can't make *sounds* other than grunts and gurgling *sobs* -- 

"Oh -- my *Michael*," Gabriel says, and holds her *still* for his thrusts, for all his *hard* thrusts. "This -- this is for *you* --" 

She nods helplessly, dragging her cheek against the floor -- 

"This -- it will always be *yours*," Gabriel says, and he's all but roaring out the words, fucking her *viciously* -- "You'll always be *mine* --" 

She nods *more*, drools -- 

Pants and gasps and immediately drools *more* -- 

"Ah -- ah, *fuck*," Gabriel says -- "I'll never leave you -- *cold*. I'll never leave you *lonely*. I -- I can't -- I can't *fucking* stop --" 

Her body clenches *tight* -- 

They *both* gasp -- 

Gabriel's rhythm *stutters* -- 

She tries to *shove* herself back, back and *back* -- 

"*No*," Gabriel says, and slaps her *hip* -- 

She gasps again and stills in *shock* -- 

"*This*," he says, and fucks her hard, so hard, so -- 

And it's the rhythm that she was trying to take for herself -- 

It's the perfect -- 

She can't -- 

The *noises* she's making are *keens*, desperate and *lost* -- 

She can feel her cunt aching, swelling, *quivering* -- 

And then Gabriel takes one hand from her hip and brings it to her cunt -- 

Presses two fingers against her clit and all but *vibrates* them -- 

"HNH -- ah -- *Gabriel*!" 

"Do it -- *do* it," he says, and keeps fucking her so -- 

So -- 

But now she can't *unclench*, now she's *gripping* him, holding him *tight*, keeping -- 

He is making her *ache* -- 

He is making her mind -- slip -- 

"Don't make me *wait*," he says, and *presses* on her clit -- and -- 

She hears herself scream -- 

She hears herself howl like -- like an *animal* -- 

She is *aware*, dimly, that she is shaking all *over* -- but *mostly* she is aware of the orgasm *rocketing* through her, making every *part* of her feel weak and pleasured and *imprisoned*, weak and dirty and worked and *stuck*, right here, right *here*, where only Gabriel can make her feel so *good* -- 

"My. *Girl*," he says, and he's still fucking her, still -- 

He's grunting for every thrust, *keeping* his hand right there -- though not vibrating his fingers anymore. 

He's using his own rhythm to make his fingers *spank* her clit, light and wicked and sweet, and she is groaning -- 

Losing herself utterly and *groaning* -- 

She can't -- 

She can't *see* anything past the sweat in her eyelashes -- 

She's clenching and flexing over and over -- 

Gabriel always makes it *last* -- 

He always -- 

But wouldn't any parent make certain their little girl had everything she needed? 

Every -- 

Every *good* thing they *wished*, and she's clenching *tight* again, she's -- 

She *barks* out a yell as her body comes *again*, short and sharp and nearly painful, entirely *devastating* -- 

"Ah -- *fuck*," Gabriel says, and slams in -- 

*In* -- 

"*Michael*," he says, and he *grinds* his way through coming inside her, through the spasms and spurts of his cock -- 

She -- "Sir, I want that in my *mouth*."

He shouts and *bucks* -- 

Spasms *violently* enough to make her cunt clench up *again* -- 

And -- 

He grips her by *one* hip as he pants -- 

As he looks her *over* -- she can *feel* it, for all that she can't yet *see* -- 

And then he tugs his hand away from her cunt -- and the sounds of him licking and slurping and *biting* it clean are... obvious. 

She shivers and moans for it. Just -- moans. 

He strokes her with his relatively-dry hand, and then, after a little while, with both. 

It feels precisely like being made love to in *gentle* ways, but -- she thinks they both need this, too. 

Still, she pushes up onto her hands when she's *capable* of moving -- 

"Michael... shall we move this back to the bed...?" But... there is something in his voice. Or possibly under it.

"That is an *excellent* idea... Gabriel. But what aren't you saying?" 

He laughs softly and begins to pull out -- slowly. "Absolutely nothing of any import, considering your answer." 

She blinks -- 

Considers -- 

"You... thought I would leave again." 

"Mm, I..." He sighs and pauses with just the *head* of his cock inside her -- 

Rocks slowly -- 

Gently -- 

She moans and *shakes* -- 

"There. There you are..." He sighs again and pulls out the rest of the way -- 

"What did I say about *teasing* me, Gabriel?" 

"Many, many beautiful things -- things which I will listen very attentively to in twenty minutes or so --" 

Michael *coughs* -- 

"It was a difficult day -- and." He stops. Just stops. 

Michael frowns and turns over onto her back -- 

Scrubs at her *eyes* so she can *see* -- 

And finds Gabriel smiling ruefully at her. 

It -- 

"What is it, Gabriel? Tell me, please." 

He nods. "I... the fact that I know -- *know* -- that you won't run from me, *yet* --" 

"I --" 

"-- does nothing to alleviate the somewhat *crippling* terror about the prospect of 'yet' coming much sooner than I can *cope* with --" 

"*Gabriel* --" 

"-- if you continue to... take breaks from me. And converse with the *sane*," he says, and smiles wryly. 

Michael frowns and -- stands. 

Gabriel's breathing *hitches* -- 

She offers him her hand, however, and he takes it. 

Lets himself be *helped* up -- and pulled close. "Michael..." 

"I will not *let* you separate me from my -- friends," she says, and *remembers* Ash. 

The *pain* in his eyes -- 

The need she did not *serve* -- 

Gabriel kisses her temple. "Like I said... he won't leave you." 

"Gabriel --" 

"He loves you -- *you*, not his fantasies of you -- too much for that." 

Michael shivers and -- "Oh. I..." 

"You knew that already. Deep down." 

"I -- yes," she says, and frowns hard. 

"You *knew* that... and that's *precisely* why it hurt you so badly to deny him. Yes?" 

"Gabriel... I -- no. I will face this," she says, and pushes into his arms -- 

Gabriel inhales sharply -- and holds her close. "On your own time, Michael. I could do *this* for... days at a time," he says, and nuzzles into her hairline.

She laughs quietly and squeezes him tightly -- 

He makes a *soft* noise -- 

She sighs and scrubs her face against his chest. Just -- a little. "I am never supposed to deny *anyone* who offers me true companionship, Gabriel. I -- it could be gone again all too quickly." 

He growls -- stops. "*What* aren't you supposed to deny them." 

"Anything. Anything, at all." 

"Michael..." 

"I recognize the... the *problematic* nature of --" She snorts and *then* coughs a laugh. "I've had that rule since I was *eight*." 

"Not seven...?" 

"I was a more *optimistic* person when I was seven. Despite everything," she says, and laughs more. 

Gabriel hums and starts to pet her in long, firm strokes -- 

Rocks them on their feet -- 

That. 

"Are you... parenting me again?" 

"...no?" 

Michael snorts *hard* -- 

"Certainly not in any *severe* ways, Michael." 

"Perhaps only a trifle pathological?" 

"A spoonful of pathology helps all *sorts* of things go down." 

"Sometimes I wonder..." 

"Mm?" 

She pulls back, takes his hand, and tugs him back to the bedroom -- 

Tugs him all the way *into* the bed, where they can curl together -- 

Press so *close* -- 

He kisses her forehead. "Thank you for this. I *fully* recognize that I *have* to let you do things like eat, sleep, and speak with your friends --" 

"I will eat with you tonight, and sleep with you, and set an alarm for early enough that I can have some time with Tilly before our shift," she says, and *looks* at him. 

He hums. "Anything you say. Do let her know that if she ever *does* want to twirl on my cock --" 

Michael *chokes* -- 

"-- she'll have to ask you for permission first," he says, and smiles *winsomely*. 

"I -- what -- no." 

"I'm sure she'll be heartbroken. Cuntbroken?"

Michael punches him -- "Just -- did you *know* a Tilly in your universe?" 

Gabriel's smile is crooked. "She ah... well. Let's *just* say that every day I wake up and *don't* find Tilly covered in the blood and offal of half the _Discovery's_ crew while holding a *blade* to my *genitals* --" 

"Ah." 

"-- well, it's a *fascinating* day. In its own way." 

"Hm. I..." 

"Yes," he says, and squeezes her again. "But you were saying? Wondering something...?" 

"Oh -- yes," she says, and strokes his sideburn with her thumb. "I wonder... were *you* considered sane in your universe? What pathology -- or pathologies -- were *you* considered to have?" 

He smiles at her warmly -- 

Sweetly -- 

"Pederasty *is* still frowned-upon in *most* polite circles -- even in the Empire. Though I have to say that a blind eye is *often* turned among the nobility -- depending on which noble it is, whether or not they're in favor with the Emperor, which *Emperor* it is, which *child* it is... et cetera." 

Michael winces, but -- "What else?" 

"I was considered... much too soft, as a general rule. I'd mentioned --" 

"Yes, but -- was that truly a *pathology*?" 

He raises his eyebrows. "In a society where letting your enemies live was *very* often the best way to get yourself spaced?" 

"Hm. But -- you always had *reason* to let your enemies live. Or *not* live --" 

"As the case may be, but --" He shakes his head. "It's cutthroat at the top, Michael, and it didn't take me long, as these things go, to rise *very* high. For the last couple of years, the *only* people I *had* to take orders from... were Philippa and my Princess. That made me a target for a *large* number of people, many of whom found it desperately confusing if I *didn't* murder them right away, or if I kept their -- inevitable -- deaths from being exceedingly painful or humiliating." 

"I... but. You were working to keep *their* allies from attacking you."

"From *assassinating* me -- or my Princess. It's... well, it's *another* reason that parts of the Empire have been in a state of *constant* rebellion for literal *centuries*: We are *remarkably* bad at building loyalty and stability -- the longest *dynasty* we've had lasted only twenty-two *years*, and, in the end, the family tore *itself* apart before anyone else had to try. No, Philippa had the *right* idea: No blood-family to get in the way, and an heir *she* crafted from the ground up." 

"Until you stepped in." 

Gabriel smiles wryly. "I'm very good at making people -- even *extremely* paranoid people -- trust me." 

"I." 

"Or, at the very least, trust me to be the very *best* choice for certain discrete, limited tasks." 

Michael blushes -- "Like... this war." 

"Oh, yes, Michael. And in the Empire... well, that's a pathology, too. At the very least, it *smacks* of one." 

"Which...?" 

"It's a weakness to crave the trust and allegiance of others, Michael." 

Michael makes a *sick* noise -- 

And Gabriel sighs. "I've always been... just that weak," he says, and kisses her forehead. "Almost certainly because Nana Emilia trusted me with the puppies from a very young age. You learn to be... a certain kind of person when you have young, innocent, *trusting* life in your hands from the very beginning." 

"But -- why isn't *everyone* with a dog like that in the Empire?" 

"I did *try* to do that study --" 

She *chokes* -- 

He *winks*. "I did, you know. I *always* have questions. But, well. In the end, there were too many other things to do with my time. Like survive as the 'weak' link in the chain that *everyone* aimed at. Survive -- and *keep* that reputation as a weak reed so that no one, *no* one, would ever come at me with a *reasonable* estimation of what I could do to them... and all their works." 

Michael considers that...

*Grips* it and tests its *strength* -- and.

And. "I believe... that Philippa *enjoyed* you." 

Gabriel grins. "For a time. She even trusted me -- to a certain extent going *beyond* the responsibility she had given me for and *over* Michael. But... you're thinking of your *own* Philippa, yes?" 

"I... she appreciated, always, *subtle* weapons. People who could cause damage to the enemy -- any enemy -- *without* showing all their cards. People with large and varied *skill-sets* and *knowledge bases* --" 

"And the will to use them in the interest of doing harm...?" 

"And the will to use them in the interest of easing *pain* -- the cumulative,*aggregate* pain of the universe." 

Gabriel nods thoughtfully... but, after a moment, his smile turns wry again. 

"Gabriel?" 

"She would've turned on me for the *exact* same reason *my* Philippa did," he says, and raises his eyebrows. 

"She wasn't --" That possessive. It -- hm. 

"You're thinking about it." 

"I..." 

"You're thinking, perhaps, about just how *much* she adored you, and kept you near, and told the rest of her family -- assuming there were any -- to go *fuck* themselves if more time with *you* was in the offing." 

Michael winces. "I didn't... appreciate that enough." 

"Are you sure about that...?" 

"*Yes*, I --" 

"Michael. *Could* you have been -- could you *be* -- more in love with her than you *are*?" 

She grunts -- stops. 

*Stops* -- and considers. 

Not long. "I still... dream about her." 

"The happy dreams are the worst, I'll bet." 

"Yes. *Yes* --" 

"They'll pass, Michael," he says, and pulls her close. "There's nothing *I* can do to make the time go faster -- other than *be* here when you want or need to speak about her -- but... they'll pass. And then you'll be grateful for every happy *memory* of those dreams. Every moment you could have her... just a little longer." 

Michael shivers. "It -- you have this. With your Princess." 

Gabriel laughs painfully. "Michael, *I'm* still in the 'scream at nothing, cry, and throw myself wildly into *exceedingly* passionate relationships with people who see a picture of me next to *every* pathology in their psych texts' stage of grief." 

She *punches* him -- 

"No? All right, how's this: Everything true, everything real, everything *important* I've learned about *grief*... has come from other people. Observing. Interrogating. *Releasing* into the wild and then *stalking*." 

"Gabriel..." 

"I had *questions*, Michael. Because I was the child -- the *pathological* child -- who cried whenever one of the dogs fell sick, and cried inconsolably when it was time for the pigs I had long, substantive conversations with to be slaughtered." 

"I... you are raising many questions within me, Gabriel." 

"The goats kept eating my toys. I took *great* joy in slaughtering them." 

"That... wasn't... one of the questions..." She frowns. 

She *looks* at Gabriel. 

Gabriel looks back, patiently insouciant. 

She looks *harder* -- and digs her knuckles in against one of his bruises -- 

He *coughs* -- 

She *grinds* her knuckles in -- 

And his cock -- jerks. Hm. 

She pauses.

"You *could* keep that up," he says. "See what happens." And his eyes are... hard and *bright*. Full and -- 

"I..." She shakes her head. 

"No...?" 

"I want to know... the way we made love..." 

He sighs and brings her hand to his mouth, *kissing* her knuckles. "Tell me." 

"Was it... like your fantasies?" 

"Turning the interrogation on the interrogator? Risky move for a beginner..."

"That is why I chose the most... delicate of interrogators," she says, and raises an eyebrow. 

He grins at her as though her line was the most perfect thing which could ever have been *said* -- 

"Gabriel." 

He hums -- and inclines his head. "My fantasies of parenting are always... much more gentle." 

"Oh. The way you *started*..." 

"With those wonderful *breasts* of yours -- and we'll revisit that --" 

"You tried the same sorts of things with your Princess and they *didn't* work?" 

"Not at all. Those breasts of hers were dead to pretty much every sensation but extreme pain, almost certainly due to the *numerous* scars she'd received to her chest during her years of training. Even after Philippa ordered her to have her scars healed... well, you know how *iffy* nerve regeneration can be, after a sufficient length of time has passed." 

Michael winces -- and nods. "I had never been able to get my breasts to *work* in any sort of sexual context -- I. You know this." 

"I do. And, again, you do *wonders* for my ego --" 

"But your *fantasies* --" 

"I hold you. I pet you. I make you laugh and squirm and blush and kick, just a little. I make you giggle and *gasp* until you're sprawled on my lap and *begging*. I... there are other variations, but... I'm never very hard on you. Nothing harder than the occasional heartfelt spanking, anyway." 

"Oh." 

Gabriel cups her chin and tilts her head the little distance it takes for them to meet each other's gaze. "You know what Daddy wants most of all? You wanna know what Daddy *needs* from you, little honey...?"

"Unh -- I. I just -- clenched very." She shivers. "Please. Please tell me." 

Gabriel shows his teeth. "You." 

"I --" 

"*You*, Michael. On your knees, on my lap, on your face, *over* my lap, on *my* face -- everything. *Everything*. So long as you love it for me. So long as *you* need it so badly that you sob and drool and scream. My. Name." 

Michael moans -- 

It feels like her *mind* is stuttering -- 

There is so much *come* -- his *and* hers -- leaking down her *thighs* -- 

And.

She wants for there to be even more. She wants -- "Gabriel -- no." 

He raises his eyebrows.

She *shivers* again, but -- she *will* have what she needs with this man. 

And *he* will have the same, with her. It's a promise she can keep to every dark and frightened and *lonely* part of herself.

"Daddy," she says, and watches his eyes *heat* for her -- 

Watches them *burn* -- 

She licks her *lips*. "Daddy... please take care of me again." 

His cock jerks twice against her abdomen -- 

His lips *part*, showing teeth and a little bit of tongue --

"I always will, little girl. I always, *always* will." 

end.


End file.
